


The Aftermath

by Drake



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, blu family, blu's the "good guys":, except no one's good, respawn's down, scout/sniper family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drake/pseuds/Drake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Respawn system shuts down without explanation, and the RED and BLU teams are left to figure out the solution and if the rules of the game have changed. No Administrator. Romance is secondary to plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

In a dark, abandoned corner of the RED home base lay a man, curled up against the dark wall, his blue uniform in stark contrast to the red directional signs around him. He was stranded in an enemy base, unable to move, only able to push himself just a small bit closer to the wall behind him. He took stock of his wounds, as hazy as his mind was, anything to concentrate on and stay awake.

There was an arrow through his calf, given to him so kindly by RED's Sniper, stopping his run out of the base. What had he done after being shot? Had he really decided that going back into RED's base was safer than trying to get back to his own? Perhaps he had; limping across the battlefield would only have made him a bigger target, and would have certainly ended up with him dead, waiting for respawn. So he had gone back into RED's base – what then?

The briefcase; where had it gone? Had it been taken from him? That would seem probable, since he could not see it around him in the darkness, and he did not remember hiding it. But who— And then he remembered. He had been found by the RED Spy shortly after he had come into this room, and he believed it had been a chance encounter, for the Spy was neither cloaked nor disguised. So he had surprised him – perhaps this contributed to the fact that Scout was still alive. He thought he remembered the fight, and he certainly remembered the stab in his ribcage, though he was not quite certain if he had eventually killed the Spy. It would seem to make sense if he had, for why else would he still be breathing? But he did not remember overpowering his enemy, nor delivering any fatal blows. His bat was dented, but not quite bloody, and he doubted he had left anything more than bruises on the Spy.

So why had he not been killed, sent back to respawn? To keep him incapacitated so that he could  _not_  return to the battlefield? Or perhaps the Spy was in a hurry to return the briefcase to where it belonged. In so much of a hurry that he could not turn and shoot Scout in the head? Maybe he did not want to waste that last bullet –

" _Herr_  Scout?" Scout was thrown back into focus by the tinny sound, and he searched for the source. Not from his headset – it would have been a clearer sound. Unless—ah, there it was, on the ground a few feet away. When had he lost it? In the fight? His hat was torn too, so perhaps the Spy had torn both headset and hat off of him and onto the floor, to keep him from calling for help.

"Medic…" he rasped, hoping that his mic would pick it up, doubtful that it would. After all, he kept it from catching too much sound, to keep from his teammates hearing every crunch and thud that his bat made.

"He's the only one who did not return—" Another voice…Engineer's?

"Could 'e have been killed before the fighting stopped?" Sniper. And that would explain why he could not hear any gunshots from outside.

"You think he was killed before RED's Demo?" That was Soldier.

"Could'a happened." That was Sniper again, answering the general.

"Leetle Scout not die so easily," Heavy answered them all, his thick voice loud enough to be easily heard.

"Medic—" Scout tried again, managing to raise his voice just a little more, the sound cracking halfway through.

"Spy, vill you go look for him? You will be zhe most easily missed out there – though I vould be surprised if zhey started shooting at you." Scout was surprised that Medic had just given orders, but he supposed that Soldier wouldn't complain — it was Medic's job to look out for the wounded.

"Very well." As Spy answered, Scout reached with the edge of his shoe, attempting to toe at the headset. He managed to just barely snag it, turning it closer to himself. He clutched at his bleeding chest with his right hand, his left still pressed against the wall, from where he had tried to catch himself as he slid down the corner of the dark room. What a sight he must have made, as he lost his footing during the fight, falling back against the wall. Was that why the RED Spy had left him?

Scout struggled to pull the headset just a little closer without disturbing his injuries, and he managed to pull it a little bit nearer. He attempted to clear his throat, and ended up coughing, feeling a dull pain spike in his chest. He saw the blood he had coughed up, and barely registered it.

"Doc'-!" he finally managed, and he heard all of the background conversation in his headset cease.

" _Herr_  Scout?" Medic sounded almost surprised, though quietly so. " _Herr_  Scout, you must not lose consciousness. Stay avake, vhatever it takes."

"That is an order, son! And do not shoot yourself to get back here! Do not even  _think_  about doing it! Do not even think about  _not_  doing it!" Soldier barked. Scout heard a flurry of movement, then.

"Should we tell 'im?" Sniper asked.

"Later," was Medic's reply. "Heavy, come vith me.  _Herr_  Scout, can you tell me vhere you are?"

"RED—" Scout managed, his voice cracking, followed by a cough a second later. "Underground…"

"The RED base? Medic, leave your weapons, and if you will not, do not be seen!"

"As you vill, Soldier."

" _Herr_ Scout, hang in there. Ve are coming for you."

* * *

He did not know how long he lay there, half curled as if anticipating attack, suffering too much agony to attempt to change his position. All he knew was that nothing had ever hurt like this before. Usually the pain was too short, or cut off by a quick bullet to the head. But here, now, it stretched on forever, overriding any thoughts he could have entertained to keep himself awake. The pain did not cede to numbness, as it probably should have, and it most certainly did not cease in the slightest.

Scout heard the rush of boots then, and he was able to drag his gaze upward, staring out the doorway to the room, spotting the moving silhouettes of what he hoped were his teammates.

" _Herr_  Scout?" The voice came from nearby, and Scout tried to answer, barely managing a groan.

"I heard voice. That way!" Heavy's voice was unmistakable. It sounded as if he was leading the way, and this suspicion was confirmed a few moments later when he emerged into the room, scanning the mild darkness. "Leetle Scout?"

"..Hey man. Whassup…?" Scout attempted to sound like his usual cocky self, but it was a futile exercise.

" _Herr_ Scout!" Heavy was nudged aside as Medic pushed into the room, moving to kneel by Scout. It was but a moment later that Medic began to curse, and loudly. "Zhis looks bad. I have no idea how you managed to remain conscious for so long." One of the doctor's gloved hands replaced Scout's over the stab wound. The newly applied pressure made Scout groan. "Soldier, zis is Medic."

"Report." Soldier's voice was rough over the discarded headset.

"By all accounts,  _Herr_  Scout should be dead by now. Ve cannot move him as he is now, but it is too dangerous to remain here. I cannot help him vithout my medi-gun." Medic seemed almost hesitant at that, bewildering Scout. Why hadn't he used it already?

"Then use it!" Soldier barked. Medic nodded, though still he waited. "Dammit, Medic! Let's not lose our advantage over the RED team!"

"As you say." Medic lifted his hand from Scout's chest, and moved down to his calf, breaking the tip of the arrow protruding from his leg and pulling the shaft out. He then unhitched the nozzle of his gun from the side of his pack, standing up and flicking a switch. After waiting a moment for the gun to respond, he pulled back on the lever, beginning the healing process. The stab wound began to close over, and Scout squirmed at the sensation. The next injury to disappear was the shot through his calf. As soon as it had healed, Medic shut off the gun, hooking it back into its position by the pack on his back.

"Thanks, Doc'." Scout inhaled deeply, relieved at the lack of agony in his chest. He pushed up against the wall, standing quickly. The sudden wave of nausea surprised him, and he caught himself against the wall, yelping at the stinging in his palms. "Hey, Doc'? You missed a spot." Scout leaned back, pulling his hand before him to inspect the cuts.

"At least you are alive." Medic sounded irritated as he turned toward Heavy, waving him back toward the door. "Can you valk, or does Heavy need to carry you?"

"'m fine," he grumbled, bending down to pick up his bat and headset, slipping the latter over his ear. "Lead the way, man." Scout rolled his shoulders and neck as he followed the other two out of the RED base.

"Scout! Report!" Soldier sounded much louder now that he had his headset back, and he almost wished he could take it off.

"Yo, man. Whassup?" He did his best not to stumble as he walked.

"Return to base!"

"Already there." Scout gazed up at the walls of their home base. Heavy waited by the door until Medic and Scout walked in, watching the walls of RED's base for any guns trained on them. The battlefield was eerily silent. "Doc', what the hell's going on here? Why's everything so…quiet?" Scout glanced over his shoulder at the windows of the RED base, surprised not to see any movement.

"Zhe battle has been stopped." He sounded unusually brusque.

"What? But the match isn't over. I lost the intel, for crying out loud!"

"It is now." Scout stopped for a moment, quite certain that something was very, very wrong. He looked over his shoulder, hoping that maybe he could get an answer out of Heavy.

"What happened?"

"Move. Talk later," was the large Russian's response. Scout sighed, and followed Medic to their team room.

* * *

The entirety of the BLU team was arranged in various positions around the room when Scout arrived. Sniper was leaning against the far wall, Pyro sitting with his flamethrower on the table and his feet crossed beside it, Engineer was tinkering with…something, Soldier was pacing by the enlarged map, Demo was drinking from his usual bottle of Scrumpy by the door, and Spy was…nowhere to be seen. But Scout doubted he wasn't in the room. He was probably just hiding out in one of the darker shadows, like usual.

"There 'e is," Sniper grinned, looking up from under the brim of his hat. The team glanced up, a few offered relieved smiles, and the rest went back to what they were doing. Spy uncloaked himself – he had been somewhere in between the conference table and the wall.

"Scout. Would it be too much to hope that you  _read_  the intel before losing it?" Spy's sharp tone cut through Scout.

"'Course I didn'—"

"Oh, come off it, Spy! The kid almost  _died_!" Engineer interrupted Scout's response, looking up from whatever he was tinkering with, and glared at Spy.

"So? I would'a just respawned." Scout frowned, looking at the rest of his team, certain they knew something he didn't. "What the  _hell_  is going on?"

"Respawn's down, and we're all," Demo gestured, slamming down his bottle, " _screwed_."

" _What_? You're sayin'…if I died…I would'a stayed…dead?" Scout was stunned, grabbing at his chest, where he had been stabbed. "No comin' back, no second chances, no health packs, no  _nothin_ '-!"

"That's about it, son," Soldier replied, cutting him off.

"So…that Spy almost  _killed_  me! But—"

"But 'e didn't." Sniper stood, walking up to the shocked Scout, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Glad you're still alive, mate."

"Thanks, man. How did you guys find out that Respawn's down?"

"RED's Demo is dead." Spy looked up as Sniper moved back to lean against the wall behind Scout. "I killed him." Scout was astonished that Spy seemed so unfazed with what he had done.  _But_ , he thought,  _Spy_ is _a killer, and he loves it._

"So we cancelled the 'em some time to reorganize. Went lookin' fer you. And 'ere we are." Sniper shrugged. Medic looked up from where he was checking over his pack.

"I used about a third of vhat I had left in my pack healing  _Herr_  Scout, and I did not heal him completely. I have enough left for vun critical case, or a few broken bones, perhaps." Everyone in the room - save Demo and Pyro – tensed at that.

"You can't recharge your pack, Doc'?"

" _Nein_."

"Oh…"

"This changes nothing," Spy announced, glancing around the room. "Ask yourself this: will RED take advantage of this and wipe us out once and for all?"

"What are you saying?" Soldier asked, glancing over at Spy, a knowing glint in his eye.

"I am saying, that we should strike first, and strike fast." Sniper's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses at Spy's answer, and Engineer abruptly stopped tinkering. Medic glanced up, Heavy following his lead, and Demo put down his bottle of Scrumpy. Pyro seemed unaffected.

"You think that we should kill them for real?" Engineer asked, frowning.

"Damn right we should!" Soldier pounded his fist on the table, "The rules haven't changed!"

"Only…now we can finish it, once and for all," Demo looked speculative.

"And with 'em gone, we can finally sleep with both eyes closed." Sniper seemed doubtful, even as he spoke.

"We can't just kill 'em! I mean, if they were thinking like you guys are, then they would'a killed me!"

"But they aren't! We can catch them by surprise!" Soldier grinned, as if excited by the aspect.

"It vould be a massacre if you decide ve should attack." Medic was frank, barely paying the others any heed.

"We've already killed one of them. Why not the rest?" Spy shrugged, a dark smirk playing over his features. "If we kill them now, you will have nothing to worry about. You could even go back to your life beforehand."

"We're all 'ere by our own choice, mate. Where else do you think we'll get this kind'a battle again?" Sniper frowned, disquieted.

"He's right. This is the one place in the world where you can kill all you want and not be marked a murderer," Engineer explained. "Besides, who knows what kind of consequences our broken Respawn system could have? We knew how our arena worked with it, but we don't know how it works without it. For all we know, Spy's cloaking and disguise system could be shot. My dispensers might not work at all. Maybe even my  _sentries_  are down."

"Engineer, go check out the system, see if you can fix it. Double time!" Soldier ordered, and Scout had to wonder if it was because he wanted the system repaired, or if he just wanted Engineer gone. The worker stood, shrugging and taking the contraption he had been working on, as he left the room.

"If we do not kill them quickly, we will find ourselves being the ones murdered," Spy stated simply. He let the words hang in the air, silent for a few moments. "If we do not want to die, then we will have to kill them. Since when has RED been merciful? Helpful?"

"Since today! Or else I wouldn't be here!" Scout was quick to reply, his teeth gritted in frustration.

"Did the RED team bring you back to us? No. They left you to die where you were. It is only because of yourself that you are still alive. You, and your team. Not theirs. Do not be grateful for their indifference." Scout's hands balled into fists at the words, and he winced slightly, uncurling them just as quickly when his nails dug into the cuts that were still there. If nothing else, they reminded him just how serious this was. He sullenly reached into his pocket and pulled out the bandages he always kept with him, wrapping them around his hands.

"I won't kill 'em, man."

"So you want us to die."

"No-!"

"Very well. Then we know we cannot count on your support, regardless of what we have done for you. Perhaps it would have been better if Medic had not wasted his pack on you."

"'ey! Just because he doesn't want to kill doesn't mean 'e ain't one of us. I don't like the thought of killin' neither, but I'll protect the team if I gotta'." Sniper was no longer relaxed, though it was hard to read the expression behind his glasses. Heavy had remained silent throughout the entirety of this argument, keeping watch on the door, but turned his gaze to Medic when the latter spoke.

"I am vith  _Herr_ Scout on zhis. Too much blood vill be on our hands if ve do zhis."

"You always have blood on your hands, soldier!" The general growled. "That won't change if they're dead or not!"

"Of course it vill. If zhey are dead, then zhere will be no more blood to find its vay to my hands," Medic grinned. "If I am no longer needed here, vhere else could I 'practice medicine'?"

"We will fight them, and we will kill them! That is  _final_! You will receive orders soon enough. Dismissed!" Soldier turned away from them, facing the map again, staring intently at it. Spy disappeared quickly enough, and Pyro stood with Demo, the two of them leaving together. Pyro mumbled something, and Demo answered, though Scout wondered if Demo could actually understand him. Heavy followed Medic, and he could hear just a bit of their conversation as they passed.

"We kill everyone, Sasha have no one to play vith!" Heavy explained to the doctor.

"You are very right, Heavy. And I have no one to…heal," Medic replied in kind, his tone somewhat softer than it had been when answering Scout earlier.

"However, if Sasha protect you, then I will be glad to use her!" Scout could not hear Medic's reply to that, but he smiled to himself despite it. He turned to leave and saw Sniper waiting for him by the door. The pair walked out, leaving Soldier behind to plan his murders alone.

* * *

Sniper broke the silence with a quiet, "s'good to know you're alright, mate. For a while, I thought you were dead."

"Sounded like everyone did," Scout answered.

"So…you said that RED's Spy just…didn't kill you? You didn't chase 'im off, or beat 'im back?" The Australian was astounded.

"Yeah…maybe he wanted to take back the intel, or maybe he was ordered to leave me. I dunno', man. It seemed weird, y'know, to stab me and then just walk away. Usually, spies make sure their target is dead, don't they?" Scout hadn't realized he'd been digging his nails into the palms of his hands. He unfurled his hands with a wince.

"Y'alright?" Sniper glanced over, and then looked down at Scout's upturned hands, noting the reddening bandages. "What'd you do to yerself?"

"I…dunno'. They were like this since my fight with RED's Spy...maybe before." He turned his hands down, hiding the spotting cloth. "'m fine – they'll heal quick enough."

"How'd you get cornered in the first place, mate?"

"Got an arrow through the leg from the other Sniper," Scout grumbled, unhappy he'd been caught by a shot. Usually, snipers did not bother to aim for scouts – they moved too fast to even be worth aiming for.

They were approaching their rooms along the hallway, though Scout was unsure what he would do with so much time to himself; normally, they stayed in their rooms only to sleep. He doubted he could do so now. Scout stopped outside his door and turned to Sniper, but before he could say a word, the Australian pulled him into a tight hug, awakening an armada of bruises that Scout had not known existed. He hugged the man back for but a few moments, grinning up at him in his usual lopsided manner. "Take care of yourself, man. And sleep with one eye open, just in case."

"Will do. If I gotta' deliver some headshots to keep you and the others safe, then I will, consequences or no." Sniper smiled softly at him, raised his hand in a short wave, and walked away. Scout watched him for a few moments, before opening his door and stepping inside. He flopped on his bed, groaning at the bruises all over him. It felt strange to be in his own room, so bruised and beaten, with no Medic or dispenser to limp to. He would ache for days. Consequences indeed.

\---

 


	2. Day Two

The morning bell tolled, startling Scout out of sleep, sending him rolling off of his bed and onto the floor with a thud. "Wh-" he mumbled, ignoring the pain of his bruises, and he realized that he really had slept through the night. He stood slowly, wincing, and pulled a fresh change of clothes from his closet. Midway through changing, he paused, staring at himself in the mirror. Bruises stretched from his ribcage to his abdomen, over his arms where he had been grabbed by RED's Spy, and the new skin over his stab wound shone in the low light. Scout frowned to himself and threw his shirt on, tossing his hat on shortly after, reaching for his headset and bat. Heading toward the door, he snatched his pack from where it hung by the door, slinging it over his shoulder and leaving the room.

Scout saw the rest of the team walking past him toward the cafeteria, as if nothing was wrong. Perhaps it was easier to believe that everything hadn't changed, that the game remained the same. Perhaps it really hadn't changed for some of them.

The first thing he saw when walking into the cafeteria was Pyro lighting some dish aflame, and he could only hope it wasn't their breakfast. Sniper was sipping his usual coffee, resting his feet on the table, Demo was starting his day with another bottle of Scrumpy – where did he get all of them? – Heavy and Medic were discussing something over breakfast in the far corner, and Spy was visible through the window, smoking outside. Scout noted that both Soldier and Engineer were nowhere to be seen. He guessed that Engineer was still trying to fix the Respawn system, and Soldier was still planning his battle strategies.

"Hey, Demo! Have you heard the Announcer since you guys stopped the battle yesterday?" Scout asked as he walked nearby, stopping for a moment on his way to the food.

"Now 'at you mention it, laddie, I dun' t'ink I have." Demo appeared confused for a moment, but washed it down with another gulp of his drink.

"Weird. You'd think she would'a yelled at us for not killin' each otha'."

"Maybe she wants us all alive. Or she'll let us figure it out on our own. T' be honest, I don't really care. S'long as she dun' interfere, I'm happy." Demo shrugged, and Scout had to agree, turning to go grab his breakfast. Another day of cold cereal, it seemed. Though, of course, he wouldn't complain to Pyro, for fear of losing his breakfast entirely. Cold milk was better than burnt crisps. He took his bowl to an empty table and sat there, digging in as he tried to fully wake himself up. He would have to be on his toes today, despite all of his aches and bruises. The threat of actually dying loomed over his head, and he knew it was no longer a game. Their perfect – if a little violent – world was falling apart around their very feet.

Scout didn't even know if he should report to the war room after breakfast – there was no match to strategize for today. Soldier would want to give them orders, but he didn't intend on following them. Not if they called for the deaths of others. Perhaps the general couldn't understand – he hadn't almost been killed just yesterday. It was different when one realized that if they died, they wouldn't simply wake up a few minutes later perfectly healed. Scout cut himself off – he didn't want to think about it.

He noticed he had not been eating for his cereal, and swallowed down the last few soggy mouthfuls with a grimace. Scout picked up the bowl, taking it over to the sinks and rinsed it out, his bat pinched between his arm and side. Looking across the room, he realized it was mostly empty. Only Heavy and Medic were still there, and he left them to their conversation, walking back out of the hall, unknowingly heading over to the conference room. It was too much of a habit to simply ignore routine, regardless of the changes.

Scout took his time, feeling no need or desire to hurry along. Soldier wouldn't start the meeting without Heavy and Medic, would he? After all, he would probably want to convince Heavy to help him – a team without a Heavy didn't get much done. He stopped outside the closed door upon hearing Soldier's raised voice, and crouched underneath the window, pressing his ear to the metal of the door.

"We will kill them if it's the last thing we do!" Soldier growled.

"You would do well not to announce that to the rest of the team. I believe they actually value their lives." Spy's voice was unmistakable when coupled with his sarcastic tone.

"Then they are poor soldiers! A soldier is always willing to die for his cause!"

"They are mercenaries and assassins, not soldiers. A mercenary makes his life more important than any cause he is sold to. After all, what use is money when one is dead?"

"Are you on my side or not?" the general barked angrily.

"You will not have a side for much longer if you are not careful with what you tell the team." The Frenchman paused, and Scout's grip on the bat tightened. "We are not alone."

"What? What are you talking about?" Scout stood slowly, silently, making certain that his bat would not drag on the ground. He beat a quick retreat to the nearest corner, and turned back around, striding calmly toward the room as if he was just arriving. The door in front of him opened just as he was swinging his bat over his shoulder, and Spy watched him approach with narrowed eyes.

"Mornin'," he greeted him.

"Good morning. Did you see someone here?" he asked, studying the younger man closely.

"Nope. Why, did'ya see something?" Scout looked bewildered. "Are ya' messin' with me?"

"I am not. Perhaps—" Spy was interrupted by Engineer jogging down the hallway.

"Ah, there you are, Spy! I got a coupl'a questions for you."

" _Oui_? What is this concerning?" Spy glanced dubiously once more at Scout before turning to face Engineer.

"RED's Demo. Are ya' feelin' any different? Anythin' feel like it shouldn'?" Engineer scratched at his stubble thoughtfully.

"No, nothing in particular. Why do you ask?"

"Wanted ta' know if the system had anythin' to do with us. It seems like the machine used ta' work with somethin' in our bodies."

"Like what?" asked Scout, confused.

"Like a chip. Or…or somethin'. I don't quite know. I've never seen this kind'a tech before. I'll need to keep checkin' it out. And maybe get myself one." Engineer smirked, "I'm still open for volunteers."

"No way, man! You ain't cuttin' me open! I don't even let Doc' do that!" Scout crossed his arms, "And besides, you don't even know where it is."

"It has to be programmed in the machine somewhere. I'll find it eventually." Engineer looked thoughtful, spinning his wrench absentmindedly. "Say, did Soldier call up a meetin'?"

"Damn  _right_  I did! And what are you maggots doing? Standing outside jabberin' like a bunch of REDs!" Soldier's yell could probably be heard throughout the entire base.

"We're comin', we're comin'! No need to throw a hissy fit, man!" Scout grumbled, swinging his bat by his side as he stepped past the general into the conference room. He picked a seat and threw his bag down, sitting down and kicking his feet up onto the table. The rest of the team slowly congregated, each arriving in their own time, taking their usual places.

Soldier began his usual marching pace back and forth across the front of the room, his eyes hidden under his helmet, though Scout was certain he was studying all of them, some longer than others.

"Today we start our assault! If we hesitate, they will have the upper hand! We cannot let this happen! We will start our battle like usual! With a few changes." Soldier stopped suddenly, bending over to look Scout in the eye from under his helmet. The general turned his head away, looking over to the side of the room, "Medic! You will remain in the hospital! We cannot have you killed! Heavy! You will be on the front lines with me! Spy—"

"No," Heavy growled, unmoving, staring Soldier down.

"What?" Soldier stopped, whirling to face the large Russian.

"Leetle Soldier not understand. I not leave Doktor." His expression left no room for argument, and his hands were sitting on his beloved Sasha, a threat if the general ever saw one.

"Fine!" Soldier snapped, before resuming his earlier directions. "Spy, search for their weak spots! Kill anyone who is alone! Scout, you will be up on the rooftops! Protect your teammates!" Scout realized that this order was given in such a way that arguing over it would deem him a traitor, wishing for his teammates' deaths. He nodded in acquiescence – after all, Soldier said nothing about killing REDs. "Engineer! Are your sentries and dispensers working?"

"No sir-ee. I don't even wan'ta test my teleporters."

"Fine. Keep yourself inside, then. Do not get shot!" Soldier's eyes narrowed. Perhaps he understood that if RED did not have Respawn, neither did BLU. "Sniper! Your usual methods will be fine! Pyro! Stick by those on the front lines! I want constant spy check from you! Demo, blow up anything you want to! Especially their systems! Understood? Dismissed!" he growled, and the team stood, heading out.

"'ey, Sniper!" Scout called as the Australian left the room before him.

"G'mornin', Scout," Sniper answered, waiting for him in the hallway.

"Are ya' really gonna shoot 'em down?" he asked, looking up at the taller man.

"If I gotta'."

"What does  _that_  mean?" the younger of the two growled, his bat resting over his shoulder. Sniper's gun was strapped to his back, fully assembled.

"It means that if I see anyone tryin' to kill our teammates, I'll kill 'em first." He was looking ahead as he said this, glancing down only once to meet Scout's gaze.

"I see. Try not'ta get caught by any spies, 'right?" He spotted the turn-off for the staircase leading to Sniper's nest.

"I never do, mate."

"Good luck then, man."

"You too."

In hindsight, Scout realized it was not quite an adequate farewell when it could be the last words they spoke to each other. He kept walking.

* * *

Scout climbed up to the rooftop beside Sniper's nest and spotted the barrel of his gun poking out through the boarded up area. He grinned and climbed up above the nest, scooting to the edge and hanging the upper half of his body off the end of the roof. He waved his hand over the scope of the gun, the slightly reddened bandages lending to easily identifying who it was up on his roof. He heard a curse and laughed, pulling back up and rolling away from the edge.

"See ya' later!" he called, hopping down a level and crouching to be less visible across the field. Scout watched his team take their positions, and he noticed Soldier scanning the area, searching for his own teammates as well as RED team members. He seemed satisfied with his scan, for he motioned the BLU team forward, and when they reached the middle ground between the two fields, he let out a fierce war cry, firing a missile through the RED team's front door. The RED team burst out through the smoke, as if they had been nearby, planning their own attack.

Their Heavy led the way, opening fire on the advancing BLU team, followed closely by their Medic. Their Soldier and Pyro came next, adding their own damage to the fray. Scout frantically searched the battlefield, the enemy base, for a glimpse of their Spy or their Sniper. If he could find either, perhaps he could stop them from doing untold amounts of damage.

Scout heard a pained shout over his headset, and his gaze snapped down, searching for who was hurt. Demo had been hit in the chest, but he laughed a moment later, pulling the bullet out from his thick vest. The young runner looked back up at the sound of quick footsteps, and saw a red blur rushing at him just a moment before they made impact. He pulled his bat forward and met the RED Scout, the sound of metal hitting metal echoing across the rooftop. Scout scrambled to keep his footing and keep from tumbling off the tiled surface, but the RED Scout pushed harder, and the sudden imbalance sent Scout scrabbling backward, losing his footing as he fell backwards with a yelp. For a moment, he was falling freely, before he twisted quickly, righting himself and preparing for landing. He hit the ground and bent his knees to absorb the shock, toppling forward a moment later.

RED's Scout hopped down, waiting with a grin for his BLU counterpart to find his way to his feet. "It wouldn't be fair t'a add ya' to my head tally if I beat you down on tha' ground. So stand up, punk!" Scout's hand tightened on his bat, and he heard Sniper over the headset.

"Need any help there, mate?"

"I've got this. Don't waste your bullet," Scout replied, standing up and running forward to attack. "Batta' swing!" he grinned, aiming to hit the Scout solidly in the chest. The RED Scout dodged and swung in turn, and their bats met again. Scout ducked and kicked at the back of the other's knees, sending him sprawling in the dirt. He placed a foot on his back as he whacked the young man's right hand to keep him from picking up his bat again, hearing a few bones crunch. "Ya'd better stay down if ya' wanted to stay alive."

"Is that kind'a threat supposed t'a work?" the RED Scout asked, bucking up and shoving Scout's foot off of him, kicking himself to his feet. His right hand hung limply by his side, useless.

"So ya' want me to kill ya'? Why didn't you ask sooner!" Scout answered, swinging heavily and hitting the other over the head with his bat before he could dodge. The impact made a dull  _thunk_ , and the RED Scout dropped to the ground, unconscious. "You're just lucky you tried to kill me, and not my other teammates." He tucked his bat between the strap of his bag and his back, and knelt to pull the other scout out from the middle of the field. He winced as the adrenaline faded, awakening his various pains.

"What're you doin' down there Scout?" Sniper asked over the headset.

"No need t'a make this kid a target," he answered curtly, aware that Soldier was listening. He pulled him into an abandoned shed in the middle ground between the two bases. He should be alright for the time being this way. He would need a Medic's help for his hand, but there wasn't much Scout could do about that right now. The runner left the shed and pulled himself back up to roof level, staring down at the battlefield, firing a warning shot by an enemy's feet should he feel they needed one. Usually it made them hesitate enough for his teammates to get into cover, and by then, the RED's opportunity had disappeared.

The next time he heard a sound of pain, it was Sniper's.

"Sniper! Are y'alright?" He asked, running toward their home base, jumping up a level to reach the Sniper's nest. He heard the sounds of a fight and jumped, clinging to the roof of the boarded up room. He kicked off of the wall, swinging out into space, and drove forward, snapping clean through the wooden boards. His momentum threw him into the room, and he pulled his bat out as he landed, just barely keeping himself from slamming into the opposite wall. He whirled and searched the dim light, momentarily blinded. He thought he saw a shadow moving, though it seemed to carry no substance. A spy? Scout searched behind him and saw Sniper leaning heavily against some of the boxes in the room, clutching his side. The runner stepped in front of him, scanning the darkness for any enemy.

"Ah think e's gone," the Australian grunted. Scout glanced across the room once more before turning to his friend.

"Lemme' see." He gently pulled Sniper's hand from his side, gazing at the wound in the stream of light pouring in from the large hole he had made in the wall. The Australian's hand came away wet with blood, and the younger man moved to pull apart Sniper's vest, looking closer. "He knifed you?"

"Yep," was the Australian's terse reply. "I'll be alright."

"No, we can't leave you like this. C'mon, let's get you down to Medic." He moved to sling Sniper's bloody hand over his shoulder, his other wrapping around the older man's waist, supporting some of his weight. As an afterthought, he grabbed the Australian's gun, slipping the strap over the one for his bag. He pulled him away from the ruined nest, guiding him along the stairway. "Doc'! We're gonna' need your help. Sniper's hurt," he announced into his mic as he helped the other limp down the stairs.

"Vhere are you?" was the quick response.

"On our way. It's a knife wound."

"Very vell. Ve are vaiting for you."

"You'll be alright, Sniper," Scout murmured as they walked slowly, making their way deeper into their base.

"Can't believe I was caught unawares. Was too busy watching out fer you guys," the other said with a weak laugh.

"Happens t'everyone, man. You just got unlucky." Scout looked up and saw the doors to the hospital wing before them. Heavy was standing just inside, staring out the windows. Upon recognizing them, he pushed open the door and signaled them in.

"Safe here," he told them when they stepped in, taking back his position by the door.

"Thanks, Heavy," Scout told him as he led Sniper over to one of the few beds. There were only four of them because of the simple fact that no one had ever stayed injured for long here, not with a Medic on hand.

"Ah, zhere you two are. Let me see," the German doctor said, walking over as Scout gently let go of the Australian. He pulled the sniper rifle off of his back and set it to rest against the bedside table, and then sat across from the Australian. Sniper lifted his hand from the wound, displaying it to Medic, and the doctor studied it. "I can probably stitch it shut and not have to use too much of ze gun, I believe. It will be enough for you to move easily, but it will still hurt if you hit it."

"Then do it," was Sniper's terse answer, followed by a wince as he shifted to pull his vest off.

"Scout, you are no longer needed here. You vill be wanted back on the field." Medic was terse as he gathered the necessary materials, heating a needle over a flame to make certain it was sterilized. Scout knew better than to argue with him, and stood, nodding to Sniper with a reassuring smile before heading out.

"Thanks for keeping 'em safe, Heavy," he told the Russian as he passed, pushing the doors open. As it swung shut, he heard Sniper groan.

The doors and distance only barely muffled the pained cries.

\---

Both teams eventually ended up retreating after BLU's Demo brought down the roof covering a large area of the field, each to their own base to nurse their wounds. Scout waited outside, sitting upon a rooftop ledge, watching the rest of his team return inside. Soldier seemed to hesitate, scanning around the area once more, but he finally went inside. Scout huffed, reaching for his headset and flicking the switch for his mic off. He could still hear the audio coming in, but the rest of his team wouldn't hear anything coming out. Scout's reputation would be doomed if he were caught feeling bad for an enemy. But with Respawn down, and the RED Scout still – probably – in that shed, he felt like he at least owed the kid access to his own Medic. If their Medic decided not to waste his gun on him, that was his choice.

Scout hopped off the roof, landing quietly in the dust below. He tucked the bat into his pack, slowly opening the door to the shed, flinching when it creaked. Scanning the darkness revealed the still-unconscious form of the RED team's runner, sprawled out on the floor, his hand laying awkwardly, the fingers bending grotesquely. Scout tugged his headset off, laying it around his neck. He bent down and pulled off the RED Scout's as well, putting it over his own head, listening to the RED team's sudden flood of conversation. It was…strange, to hear the other team have simple, friendly chatter over their channel, when the BLU team's channel usually remained silent save for commands and calls for help. Stranger still was hearing voices that sounded so like his own teammates, and yet each sounded a tad different. As he listened, he heard various nicknames being tossed around to other team members.

"Can I has sandvich now?" That deep voice could belong to none other than RED's Heavy.

" _Nein!_ I just stitched up your stomach,  _dummkopf!_  No eating until tomorrow!" Scout pondered at the Medic's tone of voice; it was not irritated, or annoyed, but  _amused_.

"But I'm hungry…" complained their Heavy.

"If I so much as see you take vun  _bite_  out of that sandvich, I vill gut you myself!" The German's tone was lighthearted, despite the threat. BLU's Heavy would probably have taken the threat seriously, and yet no such thing seemed to happen here.

"Doktor no fun. Vant food."

"Heavy, ya'd want to listen to 'im. 'E's the one who had the medical license, for however short 'e did actually have it." Their Engineer sounded like BLU's own, his voice a bit deeper, rougher. He paused, and the sounds of power tools filled the silence. "'Ey, Snipes, have ya' heard back from Scout yet?"

" 'ah haven't. 'E didn' come back ta' see you?"

"Nope. Has anyone else seen 'im? I last talked to 'im right before that attack." Their Engineer sounded…worried. What was going on with this other team? Or perhaps, what was up with his own? Something was different between the two.

"I have not seen him, but I can go look, if you wish." The accent was French, and yet it was lacking the dripping sarcasm and bitter tone that BLU's own Spy so loved.

"Please do. I'm worried for the kid," their Engineer told the Frenchman.

"Leetle Scout better be okay, or I will have many men to kill!" the Heavy chimed in.

Scout sighed softly to himself and leaned over, slinging the unconscious RED's arms over his shoulders, careful to not jostle his hand. He stood slowly, making certain to balance correctly with the new weight on his back. The door was still open, and he scanned the darkness. A shadow seemed to move in the corner of his eye, but when he glanced over, there was nothing there. He moved outward, heading into enemy territory.

"Has anyone thought to ask Pyro?" their Soldier burst in.

"Could yew even undah'stand him if 'e did? 'Sides, 'e 'asn't left 'is room since…since we found out Respawn's down."

By then, Scout had reached the edge of the shadows in front of the RED base, and he gently set the Scout on his back in the dust. He cleared his throat, and pulled the mic closer, groaning – he hoped convincingly. The conversation in his headset stopped.

"Scout?" Strange – RED's Medic did not use the same titles that BLU's did?

"Doc'…?" Scout groaned again for good measure, exhaling suddenly and thumping the ground beside him, as if he had just passed out. He slipped the headset back onto his counterpart and sprinted out past a large rock, ducking behind it just as the replacement doors burst open. He peeked around the corner and saw RED's Medic rushing over to the downed runner, but he was stunned to find that their Heavy was nowhere in sight. Perhaps that stomach wound kept him from moving too quickly?

The German knelt beside RED's Scout, checking him over. He did not hesitate for a moment when he finally saw the condition of the kid's hand, pulling out his medi-gun and starting it up, muttering a couple of phrases into the headset. Scout could not quite pick up what he was saying, but he could guess easily enough. Doubtless he was telling his teammates not to worry, that their little runner would be alright. It was odd to think of a team that cared—

Scout's head snapped to the side when he saw more movement, certain that there was someone there. He scoured the darkness, letting his eyes re-adjust to the lack of light. Before he could actually see what was there, though, he heard a rough shout, familiar in its tone. A sequence of shots rang out, piercing the silence, and the RED Medic jerked upright where he knelt, a dozen holes erupting in his chest. Blood spurted over the RED Scout, and the German doctor blinked, surprised, before falling forward over the unconscious runner.

"Pyro! Check the grounds! I want everything burnt to a crisp!" Scout cursed and pulled his headset back on, realizing that he had missed all of this planning. He flicked the switch for his mic, reconnecting to the channel.

" _What the hell is your problem!_ He didn't do nuthin' to ya'!" Scout leaped out of his cover, standing in the lamplight outside of the enemy base. He did not care if the RED team could hear him – at this point, he did not care if their  _Announcer_  could hear him.

"He was an  _enemy!_ " Soldier replied, as if that was reason enough.

"Fuckin' hell! Did you even  _think_  before doin' that?"

Thundering footsteps drowned out Soldier's response, and Scout whirled, facing the RED base. Their Heavy was standing there, his gaze catching on one thing only – his dead teammate. Scout watched his expression change from shock, to grief, to rage in the space of three seconds. He flinched under the Heavy's furious glare, and for some reason, the large Russian turned to Soldier, his hands tightening on his beloved gun. "You vill  _pay_  for what you have done!" he roared, charging forward.

Pyro leaped out from the shadows, his flamethrower lighting the path up before him, aiming to ignite RED's Heavy. As soon as the first lick of flame touched the large Russian, the man whirled and mowed down the BLU firebug. Pyro dropped where he stood, his fireproof suit riddled with holes. The Heavy paid him no more heed, turning back to face Soldier. However, the general had taken cover by then, and the only one left out was Scout. The RED Heavy turned to him, stopped as if he had realized something, and turned back to where he thought Soldier was hiding. Scout checked himself over, surprised not to see ragged bullet-holes erupting in his chest. The rapid fire of the heavy machine gun started up again, and he dove, sliding across the dirt, toward the now-awakened RED Scout.

A horrified yelp reached Scout's ears, barely audible over the roaring of the machine gun. He reached his younger counterpart, meeting his shocked gaze. "C'mon kid! You've gotta' move!" he growled, hefting the Medic's body up as much as he could, giving the other scout some room to squirm out from underneath him. RED's Scout did not move, staring up at his dead teammate. " _Move_!" he shouted, startling the younger man back into reality. The other scout scrambled out, crying out when he put pressure on his broken hand. "You're still hurt, stupid," Scout huffed, moving to help the other scout stand.

"What the hell did'ya do to me, asshole!" the RED asked, trying to pull away, wobbling slightly before Scout caught him again.

"I just saved your life. So shut the fuck up and fuckin' come this way. Your Medic's dead, and you may just end up dyin' too if you don't get some help, kid," he huffed, dragging him away from where RED's Heavy was trying to murder Soldier. The war general was huddled behind a rock, firing return shots every now and again, clutching his leg, blood seeping through his fingers.

"'m not a kid,-!" The runner's insult was interrupted by a groan of pain, and he swayed slightly. Scout held him up, half-dragging him back to the BLU base. RED's Heavy roared in anger, causing Scout to glance backward, and it looked as if the Russian had been hit a couple of times by Soldier.

"You're four years younger'an me, an' you act like you're twelve. Now shut the hell  _up_!"

"'Oi, Scout, what's goin' on down there?" Snipers voice came on over the headset, and Scout silently thanked him for the reprieve.

"Soldier's injured 'an trapped down here. Can ya' fire some shots down here, scare off RED's Heavy? Maybe jam up his gun?" Scout grunted as the younger RED tripped and almost lost his footing. "I'm gonna need Doc'. He awake?"

"I am here,  _Herr_ Scout. Vhere is your injury?" Medic asked.

"'s'not me. RED's Scout's gotta' broken hand and probably a concussion," Scout answered, staggering up into the field of light outside of their base.

"…RED's Scout? You vant me to heal  _a RED_? Zhat is vhat they have a Medic for!" the German doctor snapped.

"He's dead," Scout muttered as he pushed the doors open, slipping back into safety.

"Dead…?" asked Engineer suddenly.

"Soldier killed 'im. Their Heavy found out, killed Pyro, and is tryin' to kill Soldier now."

"Laddie? Did'ya just say Pyro's dead?" Demo sounded…almost sober.

"Yeah, man. Sorry," he added softly, trudging down the hallway. A single, loud shot rang out, and Scout recognized the sound as one from Sniper's rifle. The sounds of gunfire outside stopped for a moment, started up once more, and then were finally silenced.

"Soldier! Get back inside, ah'm coverin' you," Sniper announced, and the general's only response was a grunt and a shuffle. Scout reached the doors of the hospital wing and found Heavy still staring out the window at him. The large man opened the door, glaring at RED's Scout. The younger runner returned the hateful gaze, his lip curling.

"'s'not like I wanna' be here, chucklenuts," he growled quietly. Scout jerked him forward, pulling him to one of the beds, nodding to Heavy as he closed the door behind them. He sat him down roughly, earning himself a glare and a slight wince from the younger.

"You wanna' keep your head, you'll watch your mouth," he told him, turning to greet Medic.

"You are asking quite a lot from me,  _Herr_ Scout. Zhe rest of zhe team will not appreciate the vesting of zhis gun on an enemy."

"Let 'im keep his broken hand, then. Just make sure 'e doesn't die, 'lright?" Scout turned without a farewell to the RED, slipping out through the double doors. He spotted soldier limping heavily down the hallway, and yet he did not complain. The general pushed open the doors without waiting for Heavy and sat down across the room from the RED team member. Scout had to pull his headset away from his ear the instant Soldier started shouting, cursing the enemy to hell and back. He kept walking, knowing that Heavy would probably keep blood from being shed in there.

Demo turned around a corner, then, and saw Scout walking towards him. "'e's really dead, eh?" the man asked him, and the younger noticed his usual bottle of Scrumpy was there, but unopened. Strange.

"Yeah. He went down tryin' ta' get their Heavy off'a Soldier." Scout scratched the back of his head, glancing away.

"'is body?"

"Outside."

"Ah see. T'anks laddie, fer tellin' me." And with that Demo walked off. A few seconds later, Scout heard the sound of a bottle smashing against the floor.

* * *

Scout was sitting at a table in the cafeteria, his headset beside his plate, picking at the remnants of his meal. He had shoveled down the larger part of it, but was hesitant to leave the room, to head to bed. No one was talking very loudly – in fact, few were talking at all – but at least here he wasn't alone. His mind wandered to the conversations he had heard earlier that night. It was strange, how much RED cared about each other. He stabbed a meatball ferociously. It made them weaker, in the end, he thought. To care so much that you would endanger yourself even after they were dead…it seemed stupid.

"Are ya' done shreddin' that piece of meat yet, mate?" Scout looked up and saw Sniper seat himself across from him, looking down at the meatball with an eyebrow raised. The runner glanced down and saw he had indeed minced the meatball, leaving it in shreds across his plate. He quickly put down his fork, smiling crookedly at the Australian, though the expression did not reach his eyes. Sniper frowned at that, asking, "Somethin' on yer mind?"

"RED's Scout is a prick."

"Ain't that a surprise? 'E's RED, after all." The Australian did not quite seem to understand why this one thing alone would be enough to bother the young man in front of him.

"Sure, sure, but they  _love_  him. It's weird." He laughed then, grinning. "How could you love such an annoying brat?" the smirk died away at the question. "Somethin's up with that team."

"Whadd'ya mean?" Sniper leaned forward, his head tilted in confusion.

"Like…their relationships aren't professional or nuthin'. They're all  _friends_ , buddy buddy, chattin' it up on their channel. It don't make any sense. Why're they like that?" He felt the need to move, or do  _something,_ so he picked up his fork again and dragged it across the plate, pushing around the various bits and pieces of food still left. "For cryin' out loud, they were  _worryin'_  over their Scout!  _All of 'em_."

"I dunno, mate. Why, d'you want that kind'a thing?" Sniper almost looked…concerned, then, or sympathetic, or something. Scout couldn't quite tell.

"Naw. I mean, it makes 'em weak, y'know? Their Heavy was so pissed when 'is teammate died that he went berserk. I don't doubt he's pretty beat up now a'cause of it. It just seems stupid. This is a war an' all, an' we're here to kill. Relationships get in th' way, don't they? 'das what everyone says, and it seems ta' be true." He shrugged, staring down at his plate, shoving a piece of lettuce across the plate.

"Most 'a the time, yeah. But if a team don't care at all, well, you'd 'ave a bunch o' carcasses soon enough. It was cause we cared that we went out lookin' fer you yesterday."

"Was that really yesterday? I don't believe ya'." It had felt like ages since Respawn had gone down – so much had happened…people had actually died. He supposed that stretched time quite a bit.

"It was, 'ah swear it." Sniper smiled warmly at the younger.

"Speakin' o' which, how's your side?" Scout asked, leaning forward and looking down as if he could see the wound from where he sat.

"Better. Sore an' all, but better. Ah'll be fine." The Australian shook his head with a smile on his face. "But enough o' that. You should get some rest. You look tired."

"'m not tired," he grumbled. "An' I'm old enough to go ta' bed myself, man."

"As you say, mate," Sniper replied, laughing as he stood. "'ah'll see you tomorrow, kid." He picked up his sniper rifle, slung it over his shoulder, fixed his hat, and left the table. Scout finally decided that he should throw the rest of this food away, since he was definitely not going to eat it. It had long gone cold. He stood up, replacing his headset over his ear, and picked up his plate. He dumped the rest of the food in the trash, rinsed the plate, and tossed it by the sink to dry. He strode out of the room, turning down the hallway to his room. Along the way, he saw Engineer coming out of his own room, heading in the other direction, toward the cafeteria.

"Engineer! How's the fixin' goin'?" Scout asked, stopping by him.

"It ain't. I think ah' found where tha' chip is supposed ta' go, but it's too risky to actually check."

"You're afraid that if you try and find it, you'd end up killin' one of us, huh?" Scout asked, knowing just how afraid he would be of going under the knife for experimental purposes.

"Exactly that. I'd ask Medic to check out Pyro, but…well, fer one, 'e's still outside, and fer another, I can't ask 'im to cut up one o' 'is teammates. 's just rude." Engineer shrugged, spinning his wrench and hooking it up to his belt.

"I doubt Doc' would refuse if it could save our lives, y'know? 'sides, he'd pro'lly enjoy it."

"Ain't that the truth. Still, I'd feel weird askin'. We'll see if I can find out anythin' new tomarrah."

"We're countin' on ya'."

"'ah'll be damned if I don't know that," Engineer laughed, waving goodbye to Scout and walking away. The runner turned and walked back to his room, opening the door and pulling off his headset. Next came his hat, and then his bat and pack, all piled on the floor. Lastly, he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his belt, falling back onto the bed. He toed off his socks and groaned softly, shifting until he could find a position that didn't dig into his various bruises. Sleep was slow in coming, he thought as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Eventually, though, exhaustion caught up, sending Scout to a dreamless darkness.


	3. Day Three

Dawn found Scout not in his room, but in the empty hospital wing, pushing the door open quietly so as not to disturb the RED team member asleep on one of the cots. As he walked in, though, he found the younger scout already awake.

"Mornin', asshole."

"G'mornin' to you too, prick." Scout realized that his counterpart was missing his headset, and it was nowhere to be seen. "What'd they do to your headset?" he asked, curious.

"Took it, the fuckin' idiots."

"'course they did. D'ya' think we'd be so stupid to let ya' talk to your team?" Scout asked, and at the expression he saw on the younger RED, the kid had thought they would. "Idiot."

"'ey didn' wreck it, did they?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"Doubt it. Heavy may've eaten it though," he added, smirking at the widened eyes he got for that comment. "Or given it ta' Soldier to listen to. Y'know, find out what you guys're plannin'. Pro'lly heard a ton more besides, though." Scout laughed then, shaking his head.

"My team wouldn'a said  _nuthin'_!" the younger growled, glaring at him. His hands balled into fists, and he yelped as he tried to move his broken hand.

"D'ya forget you're injured, kid? Anyway, I'll get your headset back, don't worry. And I'll get ya' back to your team too. But if you so much as tell a soul, if you so much as  _smirk_  like you know you're gettin' away, I'll leave ya' here to rot. Or be tortured. Or both." Scout was serious, and his counterpart seemed to understand that.

"Fine,  _fine_ , man! I won't tell anyone. Jeez," he grumbled.

"Good. You're gonna slip out before Doc' and Heavy get here, 'kay? Hide somewhere till the battle starts. Then sneak out to where we fought yesterday. I'll have your headset when I get there. And if you get seen and killed, 's'not my fault." He shrugged, turning and leaving, heading back to his room to grab his gear. He had gone straight to the hospital wing after waking up, leaving behind everything except his clothes and shoes.

* * *

Scout had managed to find his counterpart's headset in the office by the hospital room, ducking out as quickly as he had slipped in to locate it. There was no one in the hallway – it was just after breakfast, after all – and he jogged down and away, until he was safely by the rooms, the other headset tucked into his pack. He ran up to the front door, awaiting Soldier's command, when the large metal doors blasted open. RED had attacked first today, it seemed. Scout jumped back from the flying shards of door and ran out through the smoke, slipping to the side of the field, hiding in the shadows. The smoke obscured the doorway still, though Scout could see Soldier and Demo tearing out, rushing to face the REDs.

Scout followed the edge of the battlefield until he reached the area where he had fought yesterday, and he spotted the edge of a rolled-up red sleeve behind a pillar. He pulled the other headset from his back and tossed it at the figure, watching his counterpart whirl to catch it. He slipped it on and nodded to Scout. The BLU runner turned to check the area, careful to make sure there were no enemies. The chatter in his ear and the sounds of gunfire drowned out anything the other scout could have said, though when he turned, he saw the younger's lips moving, talking quickly. The BLU team member shut off his mic for the moment.

"What're you sayin'?" Scout asked him, suspicious.

"Huh? Nuthin'! Just tellin' 'em 'at you guys didn't hurt me, and 'at I'm comin' back," the other replied quickly. Scout's eyes narrowed and he frowned, but he shrugged it off a moment later.

"C'mon kid, tha' coast is clear." He walked out, Scattergun in hand, sweeping the field for any enemies nearby. All of the REDs were occupied with Soldier and Demo. Scout flicked his mic back on, careful not to be seen, and edged across the battlefield, astounded he was risking his neck for this annoying brat. Perhaps he was reminded too much of himself four years ago. Trusting, needy, whiny. Arrogant. Annoying. Stupid. Ignorant. Wait - this kid reminded him nothing of himself, what was he thinking? "Soldier! Jump left!" he shouted suddenly, watching RED's Soldier aim and fire his rocket launcher at his enemy counterpart.

The BLU general did not hesitate or question the order, diving to the left as the missile exploded where he had been. A moment of hesitation, and he would have been torn to pieces. "Thanks, soldier!" he shouted over the headset, and Scout smiled crookedly, continuing his advance across the field. He glanced up, searching for their Sniper, or their Spy, and his roving gaze finally found the red shirt and gray vest of the former. Worse still, the hated bow was knocked with an arrow and aimed – straight at Scout.

"Shit!" he cursed, trying to jump out of the way. He managed to leap up just as the arrow was loosed, crying out in pain as the arrow embedded itself into his left thigh. He had avoided a headshot, just barely, he realized as he fell back to the ground, crumpling when his weight fell on his injured leg. He glanced up and saw the Sniper grinning, as if he had been aiming to hit the same place he had gotten before. "Fucker shot my leg!" he growled, curling over it, his hands gripping his leg around the shaft of the arrow. The sound of movement caused him to look up despite the flare of pain, and he saw RED's Scout crouching in front of him, blocking him from any more RED hits, and also hiding behind him to protect him from any BLU shots.

"Scout? 'Re you alright?" BLU's Sniper asked him, firing a shot a moment later, the distinctive sound of his rifle echoing through the channel.

"Rrgh…fuckin' idiot," Scout snapped, cradling his injured leg.

"Git out o' the field if you can, I'll cover you," the Australian told him, and the BLU runner did his best to push himself to his feet, groaning as he fell forward slightly, quickly putting his weight on his uninjured leg. He dragged the wounded one behind him, doing his best to keep off of it. He stumbled once, and was caught by RED's Scout.

"A favor for a favor, asshole," the kid grumbled, holding him up. "I owe ya' nothing."

"Hngh…fine, brat," Scout replied, though he smirked slightly, using the assistance to get out of the main field. "I hate your sniper."

"Serves ya' right. You're a terrible scout if you get caught by him  _twice_."

"Shut up. You went down after a single hit, if 'ah 'member right," Scout retorted, quickly. His counterpart was silenced. The BLU runner stared down at the ground, careful not to trip or hit any rocks with his wounded leg. Because of this, he didn't notice that he was being pulled toward the RED base. When he finally glanced up, he stopped, pulling back with a wince of pain. "What the hell are you tryin' to pull? Let go 'a me!" he growled, trying to break away.

"You try an' get away, and Sniper'll shoot ya' down before you can crawl three feet. An' there's no way in hell I'm going back to your dump of a base."

"You fuckin' live on a fuckin' farm! At least we have air conditioning!" he snapped, still trying to pull away. He managed to break the other's grip on him…and his leg buckled underneath him, sending him to the dirt.

"Scout? Scout! Report!" Soldier yelled – perhaps he had seen the runner fall.

"You're making this harder'an it needs to be," RED's Scout told him matter-of-factly. He pulled his counterpart's bat from his pack and hit him solidly over the head.

"Ngh…" he groaned, the sudden pain sending stars dancing across his sight.

"Scout! Answer me!" Soldier snapped. The RED Scout hit him again before he could respond, knocking him out.

* * *

When he next awoke, his wrists were bound behind him, twisting his shoulders painfully. His ankles were also tied together, and the arrow was still embedded in his thigh. He blinked, dazed, and looked around. The walls were painted red, and there was hay scattered around on the floor. So he was stuck in RED's base...again. Further along the wall he saw his headset, half-hidden underneath some straw.

"Fuck," he cursed, knowing that he would have to smash his headset if he wanted to keep his team and their information safe. He would not make the same mistake that RED's Scout had made. He rolled onto his stomach, and pushed off the ground with his good leg, trying to inch along the floor toward the headset. The movement dragged his injured leg against the ground, and he bit his lip to stifle a groan. He paused for a moment, bracing himself for the next movement, stretching his neck and pulling himself a couple of inches further with his chin. His teeth tore into his lip the next time the pain shot up his leg, and the groan slipped out as a soft whimper.

Scout continued moving forward, alternating between using his leg and his chin, pausing every few inches. His breath shuddered out in an exhale, and he squirmed the last few inches – almost there! Just…one more pull. He finally reached his headset, grabbing the headband with his teeth. He turned his head, lifting it from the ground, when he heard footsteps creaking on the floorboards. Scout twisted his head, slamming the earpiece against the floor. He turned again, facing the wall, and thought he heard his name before smashing it once more against the ground. He turned to smash it a third time when a hand fisted in his short hair, pulling his head up roughly, causing him to drop the headset with a yelp.

"And just what do you think you're doing, maggot!" Scout would know that shout anywhere. He groaned, trying to pull his head away, earning him another tug. The soldier bent down, picking up the mangled headset, glaring at Scout from underneath his helmet. He dropped the BLU team member's head once he had the headset and put it on his head, listening. "Broken, huh," he grumbled, fiddling with the dials for a moment. "Static. God damn it, Scout, you said he'd be out cold for another hour at least!" The soldier shouted, tossing the headset to the side.

"'ey! I was out for longer when he hit me! And I hit 'im twice!" the RED Scout replied helplessly, looking at the discarded headset. "I'm no medic, man!"

"Useless. Now we don't get their channel!" and yet the RED Soldier did not sound as angry as BLU's would have.

"Whatever. At least I got my headset back. They can't hear us now." Scout managed to turn his head and look up in time to catch his counterpart pouting slightly. That would have earned him a rough slap with the butt of a gun back in their base. No wonder this kid was so soft, he was practically babied here!

"And 'e got us a prisoner." The scout and soldier turned to see who had arrived in the doorway. RED's Scout's face lit up upon seeing their Sniper, and he greeted him happily. The Australian grinned back, though his left arm was in a sling.

"Snipes! What happened to ya'?" the scout asked, staring at the bandages.

"Revenge shot. BLU's Sniper," he replied curtly, glaring down at Scout. The BLU team member glared right back.

"Good on him," Scout retorted, his lip curling. The RED Soldier spat on the ground to the side of his face a moment later and kicked him in the ribs for that. Scout jerked with a soft groan, his eyes sliding shut for an instant.

"Hey, Soldier, he knows what happened to Doc' last night," RED's Scout announced, looking down at his counterpart with an unreadable expression.

"…You say he was there?" the soldier kicked Scout again, rolling him onto his back. "Start talking, maggot!" The general placed a foot on the end of the arrow stuck in the BLU team member's leg, shifting it from side to side. Scout cried out, unable to bite down on his lip in time.

"Why should I tell you numbnuts anythin'?" he managed to say after a few moments, catching his breath.

"Keep in mind that we can kill yew whenever we want, and you won't Respawn back home," the Sniper informed him with a smirk.

"And you won't kill me, 'cause I'm all the intel you've got against BLU." Scout laughed in their faces then, and the soldier pushed down on the arrow, driving it further into his leg. The laugh cut into a cough, followed by a groan. "You kill me, and you've got nuthin'. No leverage, no info. No secrets."

"You'll wish we killed you when we're done with you,  _maggot_!" the soldier barked, staring coldly down at him from underneath his helmet.

"I'll bet ya' that I won't," he retorted, smirking at his enemy. The soldier stepped harder on the arrow, forcing it to exit through the other side of Scout's leg. The BLU runner just barely managed to keep from yelling in pain, whimpering instead. The general leaned down and grabbed Scout's dog tags, pulling his head up with them.

"What happened last night!" Each word was shouted into the runner's face.

"Don't touch my tags!" he yelled in return.

"What. Happened. Last. Night!" The soldier was so enraged that Scout saw spittle flying from his lips.

"Why does it matter so much to ya'? Your Medic died, that's what happened!" he growled back. The soldier pulled so fiercely on his dog tags that the chain snapped around his neck, letting Scout fall back to the floor. The RED tossed them aside, and the runner's counterpart caught them, reading them curiously.

"This isn't your name. These aren't your tags," RED's Scout glanced down at him, interrupting whatever their soldier was going to say.

"Don't. Fuckin'. Touch. My.  _Tags_!" he snarled, and his counterpart nearly dropped them where he stood, instead tossing them by Scout's headset.

"Mine are my dad's," RED's Scout said, shrugging. Their Soldier looked at him incredulously.

Scout finally answered him, "They're my brother's, alright?" He looked almost defeated at that, but wiped the expression away quickly. The soldier kicked Scout to bring the conversation back on topic.

"What are you maggots planning!"

"Oh, I dunno', man. Maybe blow up the world? Demo'd like that. Oh, wait, isn't that your team's job?" he spat.

RED's Soldier reached down and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him half off the ground. "You attacked first! What are you planning!"

"Would you like me better if I told you we were going to kill you all?" he asked, knowing the answer already. The soldier reached out behind him, palm up, and ordered the scout to hand over his bat. The younger counterpart pulled out Scout's own bat from where he had kept it, and the soldier took it gladly. He swung the weapon one-handedly at the runner, hitting him square in the chest, slamming the spot where the stab wound had been, the soft sound of a crack reaching his ears. Scout gasped in pain, his chest heaving.

"'ah'm startin' ta' think BLU sent us this kid to throw us off their trail," their sniper muttered, leaning against the wall by the door. "Maybe 'e doesn't know anythin'."

"Or maybe he has been trained in the arts of concealing information! Maybe he knows everything! He is a prisoner, and he  _will talk!_ " the soldier yelled, though the anger was clearly aimed at Scout.

"Or maybe I'm a Spy," Scout added, grinning. "Or maybe I'm a Heavy. We can play this game all day. It's startin' to bore me how much you suck at questioning."

RED's Soldier whacked him again for that, the snapping sound audible to all. Scout groaned, his head lolling back.

* * *

The BLU team sat in the war room, tense, silent, unmoving. Each was hearing more than silence, though. They were all hooked into the BLU channel and had heard near everything. Soldier had had them in this meeting since both teams retreated. Sniper remembered watching RED's Scout drag his teammate away, unable to do anything about it but shoot at his own counterpart in revenge. Even then, he did not want to kill him in case they did the same to Scout.

Soldier was ranting for some time when they all heard a slow shuffling over their channel. It had been followed by a muffled groan, and later a whimper of pain. Even Soldier had shut up then. Finally, a few agonizing minutes of silence later, they heard a crunch.

"Scout!" Engineer had shouted, but was cut off by another crunch. The crackling gave way to a yelp, and then the enemy soldier's voice had become audible. It sounded as if he had picked up the headset, for his muttering of 'it's broken' had been louder. And then the quality of the audio they were receiving had suddenly improved, before they heard another thud. From that point, they heard every word, every sound of pain, every curse.

Sniper frowned, his chin resting in his hands, when he heard Scout shout about his dog tags. He suspected that the BLU team hadn't known that they held any importance to the kid, though it wasn't unreasonable to assume so.

Even Soldier ended up admiring the kid for not breaking and telling them everything he knew. Though, of course, he did actually tell them the truth at one point – the general had planned to exterminate the enemy team from the beginning. Scout simply ended up giving that information in a way that they would not believe him.

Spy sat calmly, his expression blank, empty, closed-off. He felt sympathetic for the kid, sure, but it was his own fault he had gotten caught, was it not? The stupid brat had gotten shot  _again_  just two days after his first injury, and he was surprised? Certainly, it would cause a bit of a problem if he spilled any information, but Spy doubted that he even knew enough to endanger – or even inconvenience – the team. So he sat back and listened, curious, intrigued, and darkly pleased.

And when they all heard the snap, Demo flinched. He hadn't touched his bottle in the last few minutes, and seemed loathe to do so now, to make any sound. Grateful as he would be later for the multitudes of alcohol he had stored up, and as much as he wanted to miss whatever happened next to the poor laddie, he knew he had to hear it. Had to know what was happening.

Engineer looked up when there was nothing but silence, and he met Soldier's gaze slowly, quirking an eyebrow questioningly. They all listened, then, as the voices started up again.

"Look'it what yew did, Soldier! 'e's out cold." The Australian accent was heavy over the channel, and BLU's Sniper's frown grew at the words.

"The maggot'll probably wake up soon anyway!"

"Well, I'm hungry, so I'll see you all around later," RED's Scout interrupted the two, and the sound of a door opening could be heard.

"Sniper, you are going to stand guard here! I will come relieve you later!"

"Alroight, alroight," the sniper grumbled, and the door opened and shut twice more.

Engineer finally spoke up, breaking the long, terse silence. "'e didn' say anythin'."

"Because he is a soldier!" Soldier replied quickly.

Spy looked up at the men, folding his hands on the table and raising his voice slightly. "The real question, gentlemen, is, how and when are we going to get him back?"


	4. Day Four

When Scout next awoke, he was propped up against the far wall, his injured leg lying out sideways to keep from putting pressure on the arrow. His ankles and wrists had been untied. He tried to shift slightly, and pain stabbed through his chest. His breath shuddered from his lips, and he moved his head in the slightest, a slow ache building in the back of his skull. Scout looked down at his hands and realized that the cuts there had started bleeding again and the bandages had changed from white to mostly red. Managing to look up, he saw the shadow of a man leaning against the wall, holding something. He realized it was RED's Sniper, the Australian's lanky form always familiar, even through half-lidded eyes, with a mind riddled by pain.

"What'ah you….doin' here…?" he finally managed to ask, resting his head back against the wall. The side of his face felt sticky, and although he could not raise his hands to check, he could guess what it was.

"What d'ya think I'm doin'? Makin' sure yew don't pull anythin' funny. Though 'ah doubt you could, in that sorry state." The sniper smirked at him, looking down at him from the top of his sunglasses. "Yer' jest lucky our Scout got in my way, or yer brains'd just be a smear on the dirt," he explained calmly, looking at the kukuri in his hands boredly. "Y'know, professional courtesy an' all." He glanced over to the door, a slow smile spreading across his face. Scout followed his gaze sluggishly, staring at the door in confusion.

"I bet ya'…don't have the guts ta' kill me," he taunted, as cocky as he would be uninjured. It was the easiest nature of his to default to – he could be annoying without thinking about it.

"The door's unlocked, yew know," the sniper answered him, a mocking glint in his eye. "But 'ah bet you couldn't get over there if yew tried."

"Why should I bother? I think I like sittin' here…better," Scout replied tartly, dragging his gaze back to the RED. He wouldn't admit that he could barely move his head, that crawling like this would probably make him pass out. He also doubted that the sniper didn't know this.

"Suit yerself. I could do this all day." The RED glanced up at the wall behind Scout, listening intently. The runner couldn't hear anything, so he guessed that there was some interesting conversation going on in the RED channel. Or something like that. "Looks like 'ah won't have'ta though," the Australian added, saying nothing more on the subject. Somehow, Scout thought that would not bode well.

He was proven right a minute later when the door jumped open, RED's Soldier striding in, his shovel strapped to his belt. "Now then, maggot, where were we?" he asked, though it really was closer to a yell.

"Somewhere 'round…how much you suck," Scout replied, grinning, though he probably looked a mess. Now that he thought about it, one of his eyes seemed unwilling to open any further than he had it then, a little less than half-open.

"You BLU earthworms never learn, do you!" The soldier shouted, pulling out his shovel.

"Whadda'ya' gonna do, beat my brains out and hope  _they'll_  talk…?" Scout asked, his arms laying beside him on the floor.

"Haf'ta' wondah' if our Scout beat 'im stupid or 'e was just born that way," the sniper muttered.

"Both!" The soldier punctuated his answer with a slap to Scout's face using the handle of his shovel. The BLU team member's head snapped to the side and he coughed. Spitting blood and a shard of tooth onto the ground, he turned back to his captors.

"That the best you can do, doitchbag?" he asked, smirking crookedly at them as if his mouth weren't full of blood and the side of his cheek swelling.

"Do ya' wanna' die, kid?" RED's Sniper asked, looking at him in slight confusion. The door behind them burst open, and Scout watched, his mind barely registering the events, as RED's Spy stumbled in.

"Gentlemen…we have a problem." The Frenchman somehow managed to say it calmly, despite the blue-tipped arrow sticking from his gut. He took another step, his leg buckling beneath him, and crumpled to the floor.

"Bloody 'ell!" the RED Sniper exclaimed, bending down to pull his teammate into the room, moving to rest him on a pile of straw. "We're gonna' need a Medi-…a first-aid kit."

"Take him to the hospital wing! I'll stay with the prisoner!" their Soldier shouted, waving them out of the room. He pulled his gun from his back and followed them out, slamming the door shut behind him. Scout let himself slide from his sitting position, landing sideways on the floor with a soft  _thud_. He grunted, dragging his arms in front of him and digging his nails into the cracks between the floorboards. Dragging himself along the floor, he thought that the process was far too similar to the one before. At least this time he did not have to rely so much on his chin or legs, though even moving his arms shot agony through his chest. Whatever. He could not leave his dogtags behind.

He refused to.

Managing to get just an inch away from them, he stretched his arm, gritting his teeth through the pain, and snatched them from the floor, holding them tightly in a fist. His headset was also nearby, so he took it with his other hand and put it back on, despite the fact that all he could hear was static. It didn't matter. As soon as he had retrieved both of his possessions, he rolled onto his back, exhaling shallowly, groaning at the pain. His bag and weapons were undoubtedly as good as gone.

But at least he had his brother's tags.

Scout pulled his left hand back, resting it over his chest. He gazed dully at the door, his cheek pressed against the floor. The runner sighed, his eyes slipping shut. The fritzing static somehow lulled him into a half-sleep.

Until, of course, the door burst open, the sounds of bullets being fired dragging him back from wherever he had drifted. The RED soldier backed into the room, firing at the wall as if there was something there. The gun clicked empty, and the general discarded it, pulling out his shovel. Scout finally saw what was causing the RED to retreat – BLU's Spy was advancing, his deadly Ambassador pulled out and ready. He aimed it at the RED's forehead, dead-center, and continued advancing. At the last moment, he swung the gun down and shot the soldier in the shoulder. While the general recoiled in both surprise and pain, Spy walked swiftly toward him, slammed him over the head with his heavy gun, and announced, "This chaos is far too amusing to end so early."

Scout coughed, droplets of blood spattering on the floor in front of him. Spy seemed to notice he was conscious then, and walked over, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. Looking down at him, he raised his eyebrow sardonically, smirking softly. "As well as you hid our information, you are still very stupid, hm?" he said, doing nothing to help the downed runner. "Yes, Sniper, I have found him," he sighed, exasperated. "Up the first staircase, second hallway on your left, the open door. Yes, yes, he is still alive. Mostly. Be swift – I am leaving." The Frenchman dropped a bag by the door – Scout's pack of gear? – and took a long drag of the cigarette, walking from the room.

It took a few minutes before Scout heard any sounds, and even after hearing the staccato tramp of footsteps, nothing happened. Sniper finally appeared in the doorway, his submachine gun out, searching the room for enemies. When the Australian spotted Scout on the floor, he rushed over, eyes widened, kneeling beside him.

"Oi, kid, stay with me," he murmured, tucking the gun away into its holster, checking over Scout's injuries.

"Hey man," he rasped, coughing again. "Took ya' long enough."

"Yeah well, you know Soldier. Always plannin'." Sniper slid his arms underneath Scout, frowning at the immediate groan of pain. "C'mon, we'll get yew tah' Medic, and you'll be alright. You just gotta' hang in there," the Australian assured him, picking him up in one swift motion.

"No problem…" the runner was unable to suppress a grunt of pain at the movement, and his right hand remained clenched around the dogtags. "Yo', could ya' grab my bag on your way out, man?" he managed to ask.

"Savin yer' life first, pickin' up after you like a nanny second, what's next?" Sniper asked, shaking his head even as he kicked the bag up into his hand.

"Thanks man," he managed before a cough forced itself from his throat. "…I owe ya' one." Scout did not miss the worried glint in the Australian's eyes, but it was quickly pushed away, replaced by determination. Sniper stepped out of the room, checking the hallway before running out and heading back the way he had come.

He slid to a stop at the top of the stairs and ducked suddenly, the wall behind them exploding in clouds of dust and wood chips. Finding a box, he crouched with his back to it, keeping Scout between him and the REDs down below. "Soldier! Demo! Need some covah' fire here!" he snapped into his microphone, shifting Scout so that he could pull out his submachine gun. He aimed the barrel of the gun down over the railing of the stairs and fired without aiming, shooting in a mostly sweeping pattern. The barrage aimed at them stopped, and the BLU team members heard the surprisingly comforting sound of a missile exploding against the wall beneath them. The Australian tucked away his gun, pulling Scout's pack over his shoulder and picking the kid up again. Scout's concentration began to fade out, the red walls around him beginning to sway and spin.

"Thanks, mate. Ah'll be damned if I let 'em kill me," Sniper growled, moving along the wall by the stairs slowly, carefully. It would have been easier if he could have slung Scout over his shoulder, or if the kid could even walk with some assistance, but neither was quite possible now.

Peeking down the stairs revealed that the REDs had gone outside to fight off Soldier and Demo, so Sniper stood and trotted down the steps quickly, stopping by the doorway and checking the arena outside. No one was readily aiming a gun at them, so he slipped out, running out along the edge of the field. The bouncing made Scout groan in pain, his empty left hand clenching into a fist, the nails digging into the bandaged cuts in his palm. "'m tired, ma'…" he mumbled, his head lolling against Sniper's chest. "No more…"

"Bloody—hang in there, kid. We're almost there." Sniper risked exposing them in favor of moving faster, doing his best to sprint across the field even with Scout's weight added to his own. "Medic! Are yew on standby?" The Australian waited a moment, before nodding to himself. "On our way." He ran along the walls of the BLU base and kicked open the doors, jogging in. "Soldier! Home safe! Get back when yew can!" He did not stop running, alerting Heavy just moments before they reached the hospital wing, finding the doors already opened when he skid around the corner.

Sniper jogged through the open doors, out of breath, setting the kid as gently as he could on one of the cots. "Hey, kid. Scout. Answer me, mate. Yer' safe now." He did not leave the room as he could have, instead watching Medic rush around the downed runner, pulling the arrow from his thigh with a  _tsk_ ing sound.

"Zhat arrow did not hav a clean exit—zhe vound is larger zhan it should be," the German muttered, talking to no one in particular.

"Five moah' minutes, ma'…'s Saturday, there ain't no school…" Scout managed, mumbling, his head turned toward Sniper. It was then that the Australian noticed that the kid's left eye was swollen mostly shut, his lip torn, and his head bleeding, the liquid seeping out from under his hat. Sniper pulled off his headset and hat, setting them on the bedside table, looking over the kid's head as Medic began his work. He felt over the bump gently, and his hands came away sticky with blood.

"'ow's this kid even alive?" he grumbled, eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.

"Simple. He does not know that by rights, he zhould be dead. Therefore, he is still alive," Medic explained matter-of-factly. "It is how Soldier's rocket jumps work," the German added.

"That don't make any sense," Sniper answered, frowning as he ruffled Scout's hair.

"It isn't supposed to." Medic flicked the switch on his gun and aimed it at Scout's chest, then his head, and finally his leg. The gun sputtered, spitting out a few more doses of healing ions, and died. The German frowned, hit it with the heel of his hand, and sighed. " _Scheisse._ If I cannot get zhis charged again, zhen we are done. I vill go speak with Engineer. Zhere is nothing to do now but vait." Medic hefted his pack over his shoulder, leaving the room swiftly, Heavy following without a word.

"And hope it is enough."

* * *

Engineer was sitting within the respawn room, tinkering with the machines and blueprints he had scavenged up. He had done his best to sketch out and label what he did see, and was now probing further into the layers beneath. It was an intriguing mystery, a problem like the ones he loved to solve. This was where his knowledge would come in handy. Sure, he loved his sentries and dispensers like his children, but there was little more upgrading he could do. This… _this_  worked his mind like any good puzzle, and it even gave him a time limit – rather, if he solved it after everyone was dead, then what good would it do?

He had finally gotten into the system, locating the data of the chips that he had read about earlier. There were nine different logs in this file, and each was labeled with a class name. The Texan selected his own log first, out of pure curiosity. The window that opened was filled with text and coding, and he searched through its entirety for anything of importance. Within, he found every minor detail in his life that made him who he was, as well as an expansive schematic on the build and appearance of his body, scars and all. It looked like a file type that updated itself very frequently, too.

Engineer opened up the other eight files, each looking similar to his own – all except for Pyro's. The late firebug's file was blank. Empty. As if there had never been any data there in the first place. The Texan ran a quick search on the system, looking for a back-up of these files. Either there was none, or it had updated too, deleting Pyro's entire existence. Engineer slipped a hand under his helmet, scratching at his hair in wonder.

Absentmindedly reaching into his toolbox, he pulled out a switchblade, flicking it open and glancing down at the shining metal. Engineer flicked open his log again, checking the body schematic and zooming in on the imaging of his hand. With a swift motion, he sliced open the back of his wrist, above the Gunslinger. Instantly, the image reloaded itself, a small square in the back of the image's neck glowing for a moment, this time with the cut visible on his wrist. Was that where the chip was? At the base of each member's skull? The Texan hummed, flicking the knife shut after wiping it down and tossed it back into the toolbox.

So these chips – wherever they were – were still communicating with this machine. There was nothing wrong with that connection, nothing needed fixing. Then where was the problem?

The door opened behind him, so quietly that Engineer almost didn't notice, but then the clicking of boots made him look up and over his shoulder. "Medic," the Texan greeted him, surprised to see the healing gun on the German doctor. "'ow can I help you?"

"I vant to see if you can perhaps charge up my gun. Or if you know a vay to do so. Ve cannot last too much longer vithout it. I may be a doctor, but I am no miracle-worker."

"Bring it 'ere. Maybe we can get it ta' work," Engineer replied, his hand going to his wrench, spinning it as he set his mind to the problem. Medic placed the pack and gun down beside him and the Texan frowned, setting down his beloved tool. "What about Ubercharge? Did that get anywhere near ready when ya' were healin' the others?"

"I believe zo. Generally it charges up quickly enough, and certainly before the gun vould normally be drained."

"Maybe I can get the Ubercharge to drain itself and charge up yer' gun. If we're careful, this process could be repeatable too. Not so effective as truly chargin' it, but it'll keep us alive." Engineer nodded to himself, the plans beginning to form in his mind, blueprints already writing themselves as he filled the details in. "Shouldn't be too hard. Gimme' a bit o' time, and I'll have it fixed up for ya'. Is anyone dyin' as we speak, or do I have some time to work it?" he asked, his hands already reaching to open up the pack.

"Ve are not certain. Zhe gun died on me as I vas healing  _Herr_  Scout. You have some time, to be sure, I simply do not know how much." Medic nodded, turning to leave. He stopped halfway to the door, turning back to face the Texan. "Oh, and have you found zhe chip you spoke of?"

"As a matter o' fact, I have! C'mere, I'll show you," Engineer replied, waving the German doctor over. As the man returned, the Texan turned back to the system machine. "See this image? Each team member's got one, and it's a perfect schematic of their body in its current state."

"Interesting…" Medic murmured, staring at it curiously.

"And right  _there_ ," Engineer pointed his finger at the base of his image's neck, "is where the chip is. At least, mine is. I have yet to check the other logs."

"You believe zhey are in different locations?"

"They could be. Don't see why not." The Texan pulled up another log – Demo's – and spun it, selecting his head and zooming in. "Ah—there it is. Same place," he muttered, looking closer. In fact, now that he thought about it, he could almost see a slight bump where the chip was – though he easily could have been imagining it.

"And you zhink zhere is something wrong with zhis chip?" Medic asked, leaning back for a moment, nonplussed.

"'m not sure. Chip's communicatin' fine with this machine, but ah' dunno' 'bout the actual Respawn mechanism. Could be that the problem's there. I'll check it out when I finish with yer' gun," Engineer replied, thoughtful.

" I vill leave you to your vork, then.  _Danke_ , _Herr_ Engineer, for your help," Medic told him, turning and leaving the room.

"These guys break things faster 'n a bull in a china shop," the Texan huffed, pulling his toolbox closer and setting to work, all the while pondering on those chips. The Respawn system could wait – hopefully.

\---

The mess hall was nearly empty, all except for Demoman, who nursed his bottle of Scrumpy at the center table. Everyone had left, retreating to their rooms or wherever else they went in their free time. He was content to stay near the fridge, a short walk away from another bottle whenever he should need one. Idly, he wondered if he would ever actually run out of the blessed drink, and then quickly decided that such a day would demand a lot of anger. He also doubted it would ever occur – he had seen their supply truck filled with Scrumpy once, though he had never once asked for more. Demo supposed it came with the job, or something.

After all, every teammate somehow found something of their favorite always in the fridge, or readily accessible. Just another quirk in an all-too-strange place. But at least it paid well. That was almost always enough to shut up any questions. Demo finished the bottle with a large swig, tossing it at the wall above the trash can. It shattered, most of the broken glass falling into the bin. He leaned back in the seat, looking up at the ceiling.

A right mess they were in, and he had to ask himself if it were another game set up by their company, or something else. Perhaps TF Industries had no more use for trained killers and decided that the easiest way to get rid of them was to let them kill each other? But then, they had always promised freedom after their constantly-renewing contracts ended, if they ever did. It was not as if the Scot was eager to leave, though – once it was over, he would doubtless be hard-pressed to find a job like it, or even one that let him blow up anything other than buildings. There could be no going back. So maybe it was better to just stay here, fight and kill other people that looked too much like his own teammates, and be killed quite a bit himself. That is, if they could fix the system. If it was even broken.

Demo decided to stop thinking about all that – it drove him in too many circles – and simply stared upward, looking at the minute cracks above him, creating designs from them. It was easier not to think, better not to ask questions, and healthier to stop worrying. So the Scot stood, grabbed another bottle, and sat back down.

* * *

After Medic returned to the hospital wing, Sniper had taken his leave and gone down to the shooting range they had underground. He needed to calm himself, and his fingers felt twitchy after multiple battles of not being allowed to blow everyone's brains out. He was surprised at how much he needed it, as if he had gotten addicted to killing. Regardless, perhaps a bit of target practice would soothe the itch. And then he would be able to relax with a cup of coffee.

The Australian entered the field of rooms, walking further to the area he had designed, all of the targets so far that one could not tell a bull's-eye from an entire target without a scope. It was just how he liked it, too. His rifle took a mere couple of seconds to assemble, the process having become second-nature years ago. Sniper settled down on one of the boxes, putting the rifle stand against the railing separating the target area from him. With a foot, he tapped the button that would set the targets moving, turning his microphone off as an afterthought.

Sniper exhaled, falling still, relaxing as he stared down the scope. He waited, calm, and followed one of the targets, awaiting the perfect instant and… _BAM_ , straight through the center of the bull's-eye and into the target behind it. Where there was once paint were holes, now. Two birds, one stone, so to speak. The Australian reloaded quickly, snapping the old bullet shell out. Smirking, Sniper picked his next target. It was all too easy to settle into the rhythm of waiting, shooting, reloading, waiting.

Within minutes, he found himself calmer than he had been since Respawn first went down. Now if only he could go out and really kill, instead of simple paper targets that had been programmed to move around randomly. It was different – here there was a computerized pattern; out there was the human pattern, habits created and destroyed, ignorance and paranoia being lovely things to toy around with. He could not do any such thing with paper.

 _Respawn,_  he thought, firing another perfect shot,  _can't be fixed soon enough._

* * *

It was to a spiking headache and bright lights that Scout awoke, slamming his eyes shut as soon as he had opened them.  _Too much light!_  his brain shouted at him. He squinted, letting himself adjust to the room, taking stock of where he hurt and where he did not. Everything ached, sure, but it was mostly centered on a few areas. His chest, for one, and his head, for another. Surprisingly, his leg did not hurt so much, though he did not doubt that it would be quite a pain to even slightly bump it. Scout moved to prop himself up into a sitting position, managing to lock his elbows before the nauseating dizziness hit.

He took a few breaths, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, and then pushed into a fully seated position, twisting to dangle his legs over the side. First the uninjured, then the newly-healed. He was okay…for the most part. Except for that headache. It crawled up from the back of his neck, a pulsing pain that shot through the back of his skull in waves. He didn't remember being hit there, and he never got headaches before. It was not as if he was an unhealthy person – especially not with the job that he had – so why was this happening now?

Scout groaned, hanging his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his short hair. He hit the receding bump on his head with a slight wince, and then continued gingerly past it, resting his hands around his neck. The pressure there seemed to lessen the aching in his head, and he sighed softly.

As stupidly arrogant as he was known to be, he was not going to risk standing up just yet. The room seemed empty – though if Medic were hiding in his office, he wouldn't know it – and if he fell, help would probably be long in coming. Scout looked over at the side of the bed, spotting his hat on the nightstand. He reached over and picked it up by the bill, his hand sinking suddenly at the weight he had not known was within it.

Tugging it over, he looked into it, surprised to see his headset. Shocking him further, he saw his dogtags in there, on a new, unbroken chain. He pulled them out with a soft smile and slipped them on, glancing down. Then, he lifted his headset, setting the hat down. Inspecting it, he realized it was in perfect condition – it wasn't the one he had smashed. When had Engineer gotten the time to fix it? Or did they have spares in the Supply room? He put it on, flicking the mic on and adjusting the sound.

"Mornin'," he muttered, moving back to massaging the base of his neck.

"'ey, Laddie, yer' finally awake!" Demo greeted him with drunken excitement.

"Yep. How long's it been?" Scout asked, frowning.

"Coupla' nights, 'ah think. Er maybe just one. 'Ah dunno' anymore." The Scot laughed, finding his own statement particularly amusing.

"Lotta' help you are, ya' drunk," Scout answered, rolling his eyes.

"Ah, ze stupid little bird has finally avoken," Medic interrupted, and the runner saw him walking through the door in front of him a moment later. "How are you feeling?"

"Ache-y. Is yer gun broken 'er somethin'? S'not doin' as good a job as it used ta'," he griped, scowling.

"If you vould happen to remember, I could not recharge it, and you vasted most of it vith your numerous injuries. Vhy did you go and get yourself caught? Vanted to prove how smart you are?" The doctor was curt, irritated, as he had been before, though now it seemed almost worse. Scout had not thought that possible.

"Hey! I got shot down by their Sniper!" Scout complained, his hands tightening into fists.

"And zhen you let zheir Scout help you to vhat you assumed vas safety. Yes, yes, very smart." Medic  _tsk_ ed, walking forward to examine the runner. When the German saw Scout's hands curled tightly around his neck, he frowned, moving closer. "Is something bozhering you zhere?" he asked, moving to lift the younger's hands away.

Scout pushed harder against his neck, unwilling to relieve the pressure that seemed to be helping so much. "'s'fine. Just got a headache's all," he grumbled, glaring down and to the right, avoiding Medic's gaze.

"Let me see. I vill know if it 's'fine' or not." The German attempted again to move Scout's hands, and the latter struggled to keep them there. "If I do not look at it, you vill not know if it is serious. And if it is serious and ve do not know, if may kill you. Now let  _go_." Scout's hands curled tighter, though he moved them when prompted to, flinching as the waves of pain resumed their pattern.

"Gnngh…Doc', hurry up, man," he complained, his hands fisting in the sheets instead, despite the pain it elicited from his cuts.

"Hmm…" Medic turned Scout's head gently, placing his hands on either side of the younger's neck, pushing down firmly. The runner sighed in relief, slouching suddenly. The German pushed in different places, listening to Scout's sounds in response to different pressures – some were relieved, others were more pained. He finally pushed gently on where Engineer had told him the chip was, and Scout let out a yell, flinching and struggling away, replacing his own hands.

"What the  _fuck_ , man! That  _hurt_!" he exclaimed, glaring at Medic. The doctor stood there, thinking, without even making it appear as if he would respond to Scout. He turned on his heel a moment later, leaving the room. Scout frowned, rubbing at his neck, confused and angered.

* * *

" _Herr_  Engineer!" Medic called, knocking once on the door to the Respawn room, stepping in a moment later. He walked briskly to the tangle of wires and machines in the back of the room, boots clicking on the tiled floor.

"Howdy. What's the matter?" Engineer asked, looking up at the German.

"Vill you pull up  _Herr_ Scout's log?" Medic knew he was answering a question with another question, and also that it wasn't fair to the Texan, but it was of urgent importance.

"Sure thing. Has somethin' happened to the kid?" Engineer frowned, pulling up the log and scanning it. At the top, with the most newly updated data, was a string of code that he did not quite understand. It certainly did not look like anything he had dealt with before. "What's this…" he stopped, then, pulled out a small gadget from his toolbox, and stuck it into the jumble of wires, connecting it to something.

"Vhat are you doing?" Again, he avoided the question, wanting to be sure before announcing anything.

"Savin' the logs. Just in case. I'll get 'em all in an unaltered state, save fer' Pyro's. Can't do anythin' for his. But once I've got 'em, it don't matter if the machine'll delete 'em, 'cause I'll still have a set." He said all of this as he worked, and Medic noticed that he saved two of Scout's files, one with a line of data from the top missing, the other remaining whole. The Texan then went through all of the other team members' logs, checking for the same sort of coding. "There. Got 'em." Engineer pulled out his little gizmo a moment later, slipping it back into his toolbox. "S'all safe now."

"Good. However, could you explain vhat that strange line of data is?" Medic asked, pointing to it on Scout's file.

"Yer guess is as good as mine, fer now. I've got no idea. It wasn't there a coupla' hours ago though, that's fer sure." The Texan frowned. "What did ya' say happened to the kid?" Medic knew that it was Engineer's subtle way of saying that he did not enjoy having things hidden from him.

"He complained of a severe headache, and it seemed to be originating from the back of his skull. I examined it, and vhen I pressed on his neck, vhere his chip is, he cried out. It is almost as if zhe chip has turned on him. I am vorried zhis vill happen to zhe rest of us as vell." Medic glanced down at the healing gun on the ground, and though it looked fixed, he doubted it would be of much use in such a situation. After all, it restored one to their previous condition – he doubted that such an effect would be erased by the gun.

"So it ain't just me," Engineer murmured, almost inaudibly. "That…don't sound too good. If it is as you say, and the chip itself is hurtin' 'im, then maybe it needs ta' be taken out. Could ya' do that?" the Texan questioned, looking up at Medic.

"Perhaps…but I do not know if it will make it better, or vorse. For all I know, it may kill him to have it removed."

"And it may kill 'im to keep it in," Engineer replied. "Question is, which one d'ya wanna' risk?" He sat for a while, thinking, his hands not even fidgeting. "If ya' pull it out, maybe I can fix it, if there's anythin' wrong with it. I'd be able to find out a lot more if I had one of 'em." It was risky either way – if they waited too long, who knew if the entire team would succumb to these headaches? Or would they be alright? There was no way to know. "I'd ask for Pyro's chip, but 'e was deleted off the system, so I don't think it'd do any good."

"If it vill help, zhen I vill see vhat I can do. It seems like zhis pain came at a delay from zhe system going down, and only Scout has felt its effect so far." Medic stopped, looking over Engineer carefully, almost suspiciously. "That I have been told of, anyhow." He frowned, continuing, "If I pull it out, he should be okay for a little while at least, if it would even kill him to pull it out. I do not doubt I can extract it – the process should be simple enough. After all, I have replaced hearts before!" he laughed for a moment, amused at the memory.

Engineer scratched at the back of his head, as if relieving an itch – or perhaps pain. "I'd say go ahead. Maybe it'll help. And if it doesn't, at least we can get a little more info before ya' put it back. D'ya think ya' can reinsert it too?" the Texan asked, frowning.

"I do not see vhy not. It should not be too much of a problem."

"Jest make sure ya' see what all it's connected to an' such before ya' pull it out. It wouldn't do ta' put it in wrong. If ya' call me over before ya' do it, I can draw up a schematic lickety-split and then ya' won't have to worry at all."

"Zhat vould be appreciated,  _Herr_  Engineer," Medic replied, nodding.

"Great. Just call me over before ya' start. Oh, and yer gun's all fixed, s'much as I could charge it up. Should be that ya' can heal a few more like that. If'n Scout doesn't get hurt all over again." Engineer chuckled, shaking his head.

"I swear, the  _dummkopf_  has only zhe mind to get himself killed. I doubt he even knows the difference between courage and stupidity." Medic bent down to pick up his gun, standing straight a moment later, swinging the pack over his shoulder. "Anyvay, I must go prepare. I vill call for you vhen I am ready. It vill be after dinner.  _Danke_  for your help," he called, opening the door.

"No problem, pardner," Engineer called over his shoulder, already focused on his work again.

* * *

Scout groaned, sitting in the same position he had been in when Medic left him. By now, he had figured out all of the places that he could press that would make his headache lessen slightly – and by slightly, he meant barely at all. It still hurt, it still made the world swim around him, and it still pounded through his skull, reverberating and echoing until it grew deafening. He tried to move, to stand, and couldn't for a while. It was only when the doors banged open –they simply opened with a loud noise, as Scout had been loathe to realize – that he managed to move a little, looking up.

The runner attempted standing, driving himself to his feet, the wave of nausea washing over him – when had he decided this was a good idea? – pushing him toward the ground at an alarming rate. He shoved his legs out, as if he could catch himself by running forward, and it doubtless only made his fall more spectacular. Never once did he think to remove his hands from his neck and catch himself, and only as he stared at the ground did he regret that instinct. He shut his eyes after the last pathetic attempt to catch himself and attempted to curl up and lessen the pain he knew he would be feeling in a moment.

That moment never came. Or at least, the pain didn't. Scout belatedly realized that something had caught him. He opened his eyes slowly – aware that the bright light would stab into his brain if he wasn't careful – and glanced down. A large arm encircled his chest, another over his shoulders, keeping him from falling any further, though his toes had begun to skid on the tile. The arms lifted him up, setting him back down on his cot.

Scout dragged his head upward, his arms still wrapped around his neck. He blinked in surprise even as his head pounded mercilessly.

"Does leetle Scout vant more injury?" Heavy asked, a bewildered frown on his face. "Is not smart for walking when leetle man cannot see straight."

"Oh…hey, man," Scout grumbled, looking up at him for another moment before looking down, hoping that staying with his head down would keep the pain at bay.

"What is matter?" the Russian boomed, and Scout flinched. He didn't blame the man – he doubted Heavy's voice could actually  _go_  much quieter – but it hurt nonetheless.

"'m alright, fatty," he muttered, though there was no venom in the insult – as much of the team had quickly learned. They were pet names when used on his team members, vicious insults when used on the enemy. The BLU Team had gotten used to it.

"Leetle Scout not looking alright," Heavy replied, appearing nonplussed, when the doors opened again, the sound amplified in Scout's pained ears. Were the doors really that loud all the time, or was it just this stupid headache?

"Ah, zere you are, Heavy," Medic said, walking in briskly, going straight to his tools in the back. "Come over here, please. I must speak vith you." The large Russian complied, walking over to him. The German muttered quietly as he shuffled around, his tools clanking about, obscuring any words Scout could have heard.

Of course, maybe the tools were actually really quiet and his brain was just disintegrating or something stupid like that. Not knowing what was going on only made Scout more frustrated, which spiked the pain in his head, which made him more upset. It was a vicious cycle.

Heavy finally walked back over and stood in front of Scout's cot, as if he wanted to say something but not knowing how to say it. The Russian did not move for quite some time.

"Whaddya want…fatty?" the runner managed, looking over at him.

"Just…saying goodnight! Yes, goodnight." Scout frowned at Heavy's words, confused. He would have been suspicious too, if he were in any right state of mind. "Leetle Scout is tired yes? Maybe sleep help. Sleep good for head pains." Something clicked, then. Scout had never told the Russian that he had a headache.

He turned, dragging his gaze over his shoulder, and spotted Medic just a foot behind him.

" _Ach_ , look at vhat you have done, Heavy," the German grumbled, raising the syringe in his hand and bringing it down, quick as a snake. Scout barely managed to throw himself out of the way, despite the sudden lance of agony, and found himself flying…straight into Heavy. The Russian caught him easily and held him, restricting his movement.

" _What the hell are you tryin' to do ta' me!_ " he shouted, fighting to break free. Medic sighed, waving for Heavy to turn the runner around and hold him firmly on the bed.

"If you vould rather I do zhis without zhe morphine, zhat is perfectly fine," the German retorted, holding Scout's leg straight out and plunging the syringe into his thigh. The runner kicked viciously, swinging his free leg at Medic's face. The doctor depressed the plunger, taking the kick without moving. It would not do well to miss the artery, and a bruise was nothing.

Heavy let out a sound of displeasure when Medic did not dodge, but made no move to change his grip on Scout, simply tightening the hold he had on his arms. The runner struggled, though each movement grew more sluggish than the last, and he finally stopped trying to break free, slouching against the Russian.

\---

Heavy picked up the unconscious Scout, carrying him over to the table that Medic had prepared for him. He laid the kid stomach-down, fitting his head into the specific pillow the doctor had provided which prevented him from suffocating, even if he stayed face-down for an extended amount of time.

The Russian sat back then, and listened as Medic called for Engineer to come to the hospital wing – over the channel, of course. The response they received was a "give me two minutes, an' I'll be there." While they waited, Medic prepared a few further things and Heavy stood between the table and the door, observing.

As the doctor worked, he talked, explaining the procedure, switching between German and English, so it was clearly for his own benefit and not Heavy's. It was a habit of the man's, talking while he worked, and he usually went over what he had to do – it helped him concentrate, Medic had explained to him once. Heavy wondered if that came from his years of work as a doctor before. Had he once been surrounded by assistants, ready to do his bidding at a moment's notice? Perhaps.

The doors opened and Engineer strode in, making his way to the table. His arms were laden with sheaves of blank, blueprint style paper. Behind his ear, under his helmet, was a pencil, and Heavy would have been surprised if the man did not have three more tucked away on his person. Medic gestured for Heavy to bring an extra cart over while he pulled off Scout's headset and set it aside. The German then reached for his scalpel and forceps, not even looking up to see if Heavy had obeyed his unvoiced request. He probably knew he would.

Heavy went and grabbed the low cart, pulling off any extra supplies and wheeling it over to Engineer. The Texan thanked him and pulled it up to the side of the cot, laying out his papers and weighing down the corners with nuts and bolts from his overalls. By the time Heavy looked over to the table again, Medic had made a small incision in the back of Scout's neck. The Russian leaned over curiously, surprised to see a miniscule metallic square glistening wetly.

"Vhat is dat?" he asked, certain that his queries would not disrupt Medic's work. He kept his hands away from the table, watching as the doctor lifted the skin, clearly displaying the…thing.

"It's a microchip, implanted inta' him fer…fer Respawn, we think," Engineer replied, his gaze flicking back and forth from his papers to Scout. Heavy had not even realized that he had begun drawing, though now his pencil flew across the blueprint. "We also think it's what started 'is headaches –" Engineer paused, looking up for a split second and meeting the Russian's gaze. "This is top secret, awright? Doesn't leave the room."

"Very good," Heavy replied.

"Vell," Medic absentmindedly corrected him. "Very vell," he murmured to himself, carefully examining the chip and its various qualities. Heavy stared at it as well, and realized something startling: the chip was connected to a multitude of things, but none of them were connected to it. It almost appeared as if the contraption was a parasite, latching onto everything, but unnecessary.

"Why does leetle Scout have chip if it give ache in head?" he asked, frowning. He very much wanted to curse his ineloquence in English – it made everything far too frustrating, to be unable to express himself properly. He wasn't a genius, to be certain, but he was no  _dummkopf_ , as Medic would put it.

"We all do. They've never acted up like this before, though, so we think there could be a problem with 'em and the system. We're pullin' it outta' the kid in the hopes that it'll help 'im, and we can find out more 'bout 'em." The Texan worked, and finally seemed mostly satisfied with his drawing, stopping and looking between the papers and Scout. "I think I got it. Though, from tha' way it looks, we shouldn't have trouble puttin' it back. Go ahead, Doc', I'm all set," Engineer finally said, setting down the pencil.

Medic nodded and reached in with the forceps, latching onto the chip – careful not to damage anything – and tugging. It resisted for a few moments, before all of the connections suddenly detached from Scout and slipped back into the chip, as if they had never existed. It came away easily, then, and Medic inspected it, setting it gently down on a clean tray beside Engineer.

The Texan picked it up, pulling a cloth from one of Medic's sets of tools, and began cleaning the chip gently. Heavy watched Medic sew up the cut in Scout's neck, though he also realized that this was not the German's stronger suture thread, weak enough to be cut easily. Doubtless, that would be for when they needed to reinsert the chip.

"If'n ya' don't need me anymore, I'm'a gonna' take this down and see what I can do with it. Call me if ya' need me, or if the kid gets any worse." Engineer stood, taking the chip and holding it almost reverently as he left.

"Very vell,  _Herr_  Engineer.  _Danke_  for your help," Medic answered absently, cleaning everything thoroughly. The doors to the hospital swung shut, and Heavy finally deigned to speak up.

"If chip hurt leetle Scout, why would you put back?" he asked, sitting back and keeping an eye on the door.

"It may hurt  _Herr_  Scout more to keep it out. Ve cannot be certain because ve have never dealt vith somezing like zhis. I did not even know ve  _had_  zhese things." Medic seemed frustrated, but at himself rather than Heavy. He also looked weary, the Russian noticed, as if he had not been sleeping well – if at all – these past few nights. "How could I not have seen zhis?"

"Is not Doktor's fault," Heavy murmured, leaning across the table to put a reassuring hand on Medic's shoulder. "None knew."

"It is mein  _job_  to know zhese things, Heavy. Und still I did not know." The German shook his head, sighing, and pulled away from Heavy's hand, gathering up his tools. When he was finished with that, he pulled out a roll of gauze, making certain to keep everything else clean. With a gentleness that startled Heavy, Medic lifted Scout's head and wrapped the bandages around his throat, careful not to make it too tight, nor too loose. The Russian had never seen the doctor be tender toward their annoying, loudmouthed runner, and he supposed it could have been because the German liked the kid better when he was out cold.

Heavy broke the silence, standing up and patting Medic on the shoulder again, squeezing comfortingly, before moving to retake his position by the door. Medic said nothing.


	5. Day Five

There were noises, floating without substance amidst the calm, unending whiteness. Voices, perhaps. They were melodic, singing to him, highs and lows and every tone in between. Some had lilts to them, others rang clear. A cacophony to others perhaps, but music nonetheless. They did not sing together, or share sounds and notes. And yet they all converged strangely beautifully. The whiteness flooded and then sank away, a silent, warm ocean, devoid of taste and smell, but full of comfort. The voices kept singing, until all the high, sweet ones faded, leaving behind the lower, richer, silkier baritones. And some of those faded too, leaving only those with familiar lilts, rises and drops in intonation that he was supposed to know. That he  _knew_. But how? He had never met these angels.

Scout jerked awake with the realization that it was his team's voices. He glanced around furtively, and realized that his headset was lying by his bedside, close enough to hear clearly.

"What the fuck," he grumbled, looking around sluggishly. And then burst out laughing.

"Laddie? What is going on over there?"

"I shoulda' known it was a dream the second I heard Sniper singing on-key!" Scout kept laughing.

"Wot are you talkin' 'bout now, kid," the Australian asked as the runner pulled on his headset, the better to hear them.

"I had this fucked up drug dream or whatever, man...you…you guys were all singing!" He felt his eyes tearing up, and any pain was wiped from his mind. "Demo, you were sober. I don't think I've ever heard you sing a full sentence before. Though you guys weren't really talking. I still can't believe it! Damn, I wish that I coulda' recorded that. Would'a been the best thing."

"So, now that we know you're good an' awake, an' pro'lly drugged up still, how're ya' feelin', kid?" Engineer asked, and Scout could almost hear the smile that was probably on his face.

"Fine enough, I guess. 'm not hurtin' all that much anymore, if that's what ya' mean."

"Interestin'…" the Texan murmured, and the sound of scribbling filled the sudden silence.

"What's interestin'? What're ya' talkin' about, Hardhat?" Scout frowned, the question hanging in the air.

"Yeah...what  _is_  so interestin' 'bout it, Engineer?" Sniper asked suddenly, interrupting Demo's next words.

"I'm just surprised the kid's feelin' alright when Medic didn't heal 'im up all the way with his gun," the Texan answered quickly.

"I ain't no kid!" Scout snapped, scowling.

"Whatever you say, kiddo," Engineer replied, and if Scout had been thinking, he would have noticed that the Texan sounded relieved about the subject change.

"'ey, I'm a legal adult, alright? Talk to fuckin' RED's Scout if ya' wanna' be callin' someone a kid!" he grumbled.

"He's a legal adult too, laddie," Demo pointed out.

"But he can't drink!" Scout pointed out.

"Ah, then yer right, it would make 'im a kid," Demo replied thoughtfully.

"See what I mean? 'm not a kid!" Scout huffed, and sat up, reaching up to absentmindedly rub his neck. When his hand scraped over bandages, he froze, instantly tuning out any response he could have received. "What-," he murmured, pushing himself to his feet. He stumbled for a moment, and staggered slightly across the room, reaching the tall mirror Medic had hanging against one of the walls. He stared at himself, tilting his head so he could see his neck better. "What the fuck is this…?" he asked to the air.

"Wot is wot, mate?" Sniper asked, making Scout realize he had been heard.

"I…I wasn't hurt any on my neck, but there's bandages here…" he murmured, confused, staring at his reflection as if it would tell him something.

"You sure they didn' hurt you there?" the Australian asked, and it sounded as if he had stopped whatever he was doing.

"Positive. They didn' even touch my neck. Pro'lly scared they'd kill me or somethin'. But…what's this then?" Scout felt a trickle of fear slither down his spine and curl around his heart, and he did his best to ignore it. He didn't like the idea of someone digging around him while he was out cold.

"That's bloody strange. Maybe you can ask Medic," Sniper replied, though he seemed confused too.

"I will," Scout replied, staring down at the wraps on his hands, not noticing the door open behind him.

"You called?" the German asked, smirking as the runner whirled, a hand going to the holster he wasn't wearing, searching for the gun that wasn't there.

"Doc'!" Scout shouted in surprise, his hand sheepishly dropping from its course the instant he recognized who it was. When had he gotten so jumpy? "What's all this for?" he asked, rubbing at his throat.

"Zhere was…a small procedure I did to cure your headache. It is no longer hurting, ja?" When the runner nodded dubiously, his smirk grew. "Perfect! Zhen why are you asking?"

"What did you do to me?" Scout asked, vaguely recalling trying to get away, being caught, restrained, subdued. With each returning recollection, his dread grew.

"Nozhing! Simply a little trick I know, and it obviously vorked. Vhy are you complaining?" Medic's smirk soured into a frown, and Scout was almost afraid of asking further.

"I just remember some weird things, man," he began.

" _Ach_. Dreams." The German huffed, as if offended that Scout would waste his time with such things.

"No way, man! The dreams were all fluffy and shit. You tried to…do  _somethin'_ with one of your syringes, and I jumped away, and Heavy caught me, and you stabbed me anyway, and then I fell asleep." The runner watched Medic's expression drop further, transforming into rage.

"Vhat are you implying?" His voice dripped poison, and Scout belatedly decided he had taken the wrong approach to this question.

" _Nuthin_ ', man! 's why I'm  _askin'_!" He raised his hands, palm outward as if surrendering,

"And I answered. A simple procedure to cure your headaches." Medic turned away, ending the argument suddenly.

"Whatever, asshole." Scout returned to the bedside and snatched his hat and bag, leaving the hospital room.

He trudged through the hallways, his stomach rumbling loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in a while. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he pulled down his headset to put his hat on underneath it, carefully replacing the headset afterward. Silence filled his ears, disturbed only by the sound of his footsteps, and he reveled in it, suddenly glad that the BLU team did not chatter anywhere near as much as the RED.

This startled him, as he was always the one who supported noise and racket, causing it himself if the base was too quiet for his tastes. But then, he had not really appreciated noise when he could barely see straight just the day before. He shrugged it off, content to leave the pondering for people who got paid to do it, and pushed open the doors to the cafeteria.

Sniper was there, sitting back with his coffee beside him, his dismantled rifle before him. He was cleaning the gun thoroughly, carefully, patiently. Scout couldn't understand it. It was just a gun after all. Why take so much time?

"Hey, Sniper!" he called, walking over, waiting a moment as the Australian looked up and nodded, tilting his head to a place near him. Scout tossed his bag down in the seat and bolted over to the kitchen area to grab something to eat. Sniper could wait – he was an  _expert_  at that.

Scout found some bacon sitting in a pan on the stove, quietly sizzling, and he could not believe his luck. With a joyful shout, he poured it all into a plate, grabbed some toast, and turned to look in the refrigerator. There were still a bunch of eggs there, and he took two of them, cracking them swiftly and pouring them into the still-warm pan. When it was all done, he took his plate, mouth watering, and walked back to their table, grabbing a can of soda on the way.

"Man, there was  _bacon_  in the kitchen! Who the hell would leave a whole plate of bacon behind?" He asked, sitting down just a few seats over from Sniper, digging in. "And i'sh really good too," he mumbled around a mouthful of the delicious breakfast. The Australian simply smiled, shaking his head and resuming his cleaning.

The plateful of food disappeared in moments, and Scout leaned back, taking a large swig of soda. He belched loudly, and Sniper looked over at him.

"Hungry, eh, mate?" the Australian asked, smiling wryly. He had finished with a couple of pieces of his rifle, slipped them together effortlessly, and set them aside. Scout exhaled and slouched against his chair, taking another drink of his soda, smiling widely.

"Dunno' the last time I ate such good breakfast. I didn't even know we  _had_  bacon!" The runner leaned back, pushing the chair until it balanced on two legs, and stretched. He rolled his head from side to side, stretched his arms and legs, and cracked his back. When he let the chair land back on four legs, he caught Sniper looking at him oddly. "What's up?" he asked, frowning.

"D'ya' ever find out what happened ta' yer neck?" the Australian asked, looking at him strangely.

"Naw, man. Doc' refused to tell." He shrugged, not bothering to hide his anger.

"Let me see." Sniper leaned over, and Scout turned his head, showing him the side and back of his neck. "Bloody 'ell…" the Australian muttered, looking closer.

"What? What's 'bloody hell'?" Scout asked, turning quickly to look at Sniper. The older man grunted, forcibly turning his head away again.

"The bandages back 'ere," he said, very lightly touching the area, making Scout wince instinctively despite the lack of pain, "are turnin' red. 're you alright? I didn't 'urt ya', did I?" Sniper asked, and the runner quickly shook his head.

"'m fi—"

" _Alright you pansies, quit making your daisy chains and GET YOUR ASSES OVER TO THE WAR ROOM. STAT."_ Soldier's incredibly loud shout made Scout flinch, interrupting him mid-sentence, and he had to wonder if the general had a megaphone he used to shout into his microphone.

"We're comin', we're comin', jeez," he grumbled, standing and taking his plate to the sink, rinsing it off. When he turned back, he saw Sniper waiting for him, rifle mostly assembled and slung over his shoulder. Scout dashed over and picked up his bag, slinging it on and following him to the door.

"Soldier's gonna blow our ears out one day, and then 'e'll have to shout even louder," Sniper muttered as they walked, and Scout laughed.

"That's what he pro'lly wants, man. He'd die happy if he could shout his lungs out," the runner replied, taking longer strides to keep up with Sniper's.

" _I'D DIE WHAT?_ " Scout looked up and saw the general standing in the hall, shouting angrily – or excitedly; one could never tell – at them.

"Actually, I don't think you could  _ever_  behappy," the runner sighed and stepped past him, entering the conference room and sitting down. Sniper shook his head when Soldier attempted to question him, and walked right past him. The Australian leaned his rifle against the table as Scout tossed his bag of gear on the floor. The runner sat down and scooted his chair back, putting his feet up on the table and balancing the chair on two legs. To hell with it. He could care less if he got yelled at for getting dirt on Soldier's precious war table.

The rest of the team had yet to arrive, so the two simply sat back and waited.

* * *

It took half an hour for the rest of the team to meander in, and when they had all arrived, Soldier stomped in, looking angrier than words could express.

"Goddamn Frenchie, always holding us up!  _Where the hell is Spy_!" he shouted at no one in particular, and Scout frowned, confused. He glanced over at the corner where Spy was standing, uncloaked for once, and thought back. The runner remembered watching Spy walk in with the rest of them, slipping by Engineer and behind Demoman. Soldier apparently didn't see the Frenchman, and kept on shouting obscenities about the 'goddamn ski-mask-wearing-baguette-eating-daughter-of-a-pansy-who-wouldn't-understand-a-bullet-if-it-hit-him-in-the-ass'.

"Yo', man, he's right over there," Scout finally spoke up, pointing to the corner where Spy was standing. The Frenchman's eyes widened in shock interlaced with horror, and the runner frowned back at him. The team turned to look at the corner and, upon seeing nothing, turned back grumpily, as if expecting a customary 'haha made ya' look!' When it never came, they looked back into the corner and still saw nothing.

In a flash, Spy crossed the room and grabbed Scout by the front of his shirt, pulling him out of his seat. The team muttered in surprise,

"What the—"

"Bloody—"

"Fuck!" and the runner grabbed at Spy's wrist, pressing buttons on the latter's watch as he attempted to escape his grasp.

"Spah?"

"How did you know?" the Frenchman nearly shouted in Scout's face, and the runner squirmed, hanging from Spy's grip on his shirt.

"What are you talkin' about, man? You were jest standin' there!" Scout answered in kind, mildly terrified for his life.

"Hey now, Spah', let him—"

" _How. Did. You. See. Me?"_  Spy punctuated the space between each word with a shake, and Scout ground his teeth together, trying to pry the Frenchman's fingers off of him.

"You weren't hidin' or nuthin'!" the runner shouted, watching Spy's anger fester and broil, and he flinched when the older man glared at him.

"Hold on now, partner!" Engineer was there, suddenly, trying to pull Spy off of Scout. Demo moved to assist him, and together they managed to get the Frenchman's hand off of the runner, causing Scout to drop down to his feet, barely keeping his balance. "I don't quite know what jes' happened, but ya' can't go 'round attackin' yer teammates fer nuthin'," the Texan reasoned, standing between the runner and the Frenchman. Spy glared daggers at him too, and fixed his suit with a huff.

Scout glanced around the room and saw Medic scrutinizing him, Sniper frowning, Soldier looking bewildered, and Heavy not paying any attention.

"Scout! Explain how you just located a cloaked spy!" Soldier shouted, regaining his voice, his expression returning to his usual anger.

"Cloaked? Naw, man. He was just  _standin'_  there, like I already told you!" Scout's voice wavered in the slightest, and he glared at Spy again, uncomfortable with the entire team looking at him so strangely.

"Then why didn't the rest of us see him?" the general questioned, spittle flying from the corners of his lips.

" _I don't know!"_ the runner shouted, his back rigid.

"So,  _Herr_  Scout can see cloaked spies, now. Perhaps he can also see through disguises?" Medic asked, his voice not even needing to carry over Soldier's half-formed roar.

"What the hell, Doc'! I can't see through nuthin', alright?" Scout replied, turning to face the German.

"It seems that you can. Knowing  _why_  is unimportant." Medic shrugged, and a silence settled over the room. Spy looked almost…uneasy, under that carefully prepared stoicism that he always wore. Soldier almost seemed thoughtful, and the expression ill befitted him. Then he grinned – a dark, menacing thing – and did not take long to explain the source of his joy.

"We have a new spy checker! Scout! You are to remain with Sniper and survey the battlefield for RED's Spy! Take him by surprise!"

"Fine, whatever," Scout grumbled, willing to say anything to get him out of the spotlight. Certainly, he adored attention, but in situations of his own creations, not because of circumstances he didn't understand.

"Everyone else! Same instructions! We will kill them, no matter  _what it takes!_   _DISMISSED, LADIES."_  Soldier had this uncanny ability to make a room clear out far quicker than he could make it fill up, Scout noticed. Spy walked away, but not before glaring furiously at the runner, and Scout hazarded a guess that the man was cloaked. The rest of the team left as well, and Scout hurried so that he would not be the last one there.

He grabbed his pack on the way out and saw Sniper waiting for him in the hall, waving him over as he walked up the stairs to his perch. "Looks like yer with me today, mate," the Australian said as they walked together.

"Dunno' what you guys expect me to do. I can't see invisible spies 'er nuthin', man," Scout complained, pulling his bat out and swinging it in time with his strides.

"Well, you pointed over to a corner, an' then you were picked up by nothin' at all, an' then Spy materialized. I'm gunna' assume 'at you saw 'im the entire time, and the rest of us couldn't. I don't know what 'at is, but you sure saw a cloaked spy," Sniper explained, unsheathing his kukuri as they reached the top of the stairs. He walked into the room cautiously, scanning the area for movement or anything unnatural. He knew where everything was supposed to be, down to the rotation of his mug. No one had been in his nest.

Scout followed, sitting down on a box by the doorway, making certain he had a clear view of the staircase. He did not know how Soldier expected him to see RED's Spy in the field from here – the hole that he had broken into the wall a few days before had been fixed, and there was room enough only for Sniper's rifle. But everyone knew how much Spies loved harassing – and trying to kill – Snipers, so at least he could be of some use here.

Tucking his bat away, the runner pulled out his Scattergun, made sure it was loaded, and then sat back against the wall, forcing himself to sit still and watch the corridor. He would get restless at some point or another, but then he could find another place to sit, or stretch, or something. It wasn't like he was looking for moving shadows, anyway, but a completely unconcealed Spy in a red suit.

How hard could it be to spot him?

* * *

The answer, it seemed, was 'too easy.'

After the battle had started, Scout kept his eyes open for the Spy, giving Sniper the chance to fully immerse himself in his scope and not have to worry about being caught unawares. Several times, the sound of the rifle's familiar echoing boom stunned Scout, and he wondered how the man had not gone deaf yet. Regardless, he did not hear any shouts of triumph from the Australian or their teammates, and he had to assume that the man was not going for headshots, though there was no way to know.

After one particularly loud shot, Scout spotted a red blur push around the corner and slink up the stairs. The runner stood abruptly and stepped out into the hallway, Scattergun aimed straight at the spy's face. The RED seemed surprised, frowning and looking over himself and at his watch.

"I can see you, dumbass," he announced, bored. The spy's eyes narrowed, and he was no doubt wondering if Scout was lying, or bluffing. Or if he had slipped up. "Get out of here, ya' rat, before I make ya' shapeshift into a dead guy."

Still, the RED said nothing, even daring to take a step forward. Scout scowled, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

"I hate when people don't take me seriously," he muttered, his gun following the spy. When the man still did not leave, he turned the shotgun suddenly and fired at the wall beside him. One of the shards in the spray hit the RED's balaclava, tearing through the fabric and cutting into his cheek. "Next time, I'll make sure your brains are  _out of_  your head. Go away!"

The spy seemed shocked then, a hand – unarmed, Scout realized in a moment – going up to touch his cheek. He looked a tad afraid, and walked backwards down the stairs, getting halfway before turning. Scout spat on the ground in front of him, turning to re-enter the room.

Sniper was sitting up, looking at him with a frown. "Why didn't you kill 'im?"

Scout shrugged, looking away, suddenly uncomfortable. "s'not his fault I can see him."

"So? It's not 's if RED showed you mercy." Sniper seemed frustrated, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.

"'m not RED, am I?" Scout asked, plopping himself down on the seat he had claimed. He reloaded his gun in the following silence, the shells clattering to the ground, only accenting the fact that neither of the two were speaking. The explosions and gunshots outside sounded miles away.

"'e'll come back, you know," the Australian eventually said, returning to his scope.

"You think he can sneak past  _me_  without a cloak 'r disguise? 'sides, I told 'im I'd kill 'im if he came closer. He comes back, he's dead meat. And he knows it." Scout suddenly wished he had something to chew on, something to do, anything to keep moving. The restlessness hit him with a sudden ferocity he hadn't expected, and he set down his gun, crossing his arms. A few moments later, he picked up his Scattergun again, and sat back.

"And if yer not here?" Scout felt as if Sniper were upset that he  _hadn't_  killed the RED. He had always thought that the Australian would want to do it himself, because of their unending rivalry and hatred for each other. Perhaps he was wrong.

"You ain't usually caught unawares." The runner wondered if he should regret not killing the man. But then, RED's Spy  _had_  been the distraction that got their soldier and sniper to stop torturing him, so he supposed there was that to think of. Even if the arrow that started it all was Sniper's own.

Regardless, Scout still didn't feel quite right killing anyone when he  _knew_  they would not be getting up again in five minutes. It was different, though he knew that was a poor excuse to any outsider. This…they life they had, it was almost like it was a game – death certainly wasn't anything final. But now, now everything changed, despite Soldier's firm belief that it hadn't. It was not the same when you were killing someone for real, when you had to watch the dying flare in an enemy's eyes sputter out, and then knew that they wouldn't see anything again.

As loathe as he was to admit to himself – and he would certainly  _never_  admit it aloud – Scout was…almost afraid of killing anyone. Being around real death, the desperation for survival, it did things to one's mind.

Whatever it did, Scout didn't like it.

The silence stretched on for what seemed ages, though it could have been only ten minutes – Sniper didn't keep a clock up here, and one could not look at the sun to discern the time; though it would be a joke for one to assume that Scout could even use such a method. When, finally, he heard a sound other than Sniper's rifle, he stood, listening closely.

Scout heard a quite  _thump_ , and then another one, the sound dull, barely reaching his ears. He held his gun before him, running down the steps before Sniper could utter a protest, and skid out into the hallway, checking both sides quickly as he pressed his back to the opposite wall. Nothing there.

He heard the sound again, quieter, and ran down the length of hall, about to pass an empty hallway adjoining the one Scout was in, before forcing himself to slide to a stop. Inside, he had glanced and seen something red. Everything in their base was blue. The runner entered the hallway, doubly cautious, and looked around, before realizing that the red shape curled on its hands and knees was a  _person._

"I told ya' to  _go away_ , ya' rat!" Scout snarled, stepping forward. RED's Spy seemed to curl closer to the floor at the words, and the runner frowned, instantly suspicious. No spy would ever let himself appear afraid. No matter the consequences. "What's the matter, backstabber? Lost your tongue on the way out?"

The RED's only response was an agonized groan.

"Did ya' get 'im?" Sniper asked over the channel, sounding oddly anxious.

"Man, it wasn't me, but I can betcha'  _somethin'_  did. He's all curled up on the ground here. Won't even look me in the eyes. Somethin's up, but I ain't got a clue what."

"Shoot him and get it over with!" Soldier barked in his ear.

"Vait. You said he is subdued, ja?" Medic inquired suddenly.

"Sure, man. He isn't movin' 'r anythin'." To prove this, Scout kicked the man in the ribs – not hard enough to break anything, but with enough force to push him over. The RED rolled onto his side without resistance, his eyes clenched shut and teeth gritted in pain. "Whatever's got 'im hurt 'im bad, though. I'd say he's dyin', but there ain't no blood."

"Vhere are you?" As soon as Scout answered him, he was given a curt, "I am coming." The runner leaned against the wall, keeping his gun trained on the RED, scanning the hallway for any enemies coming to their teammate's rescue.

"Yer' in for a load of trouble, ya' shapeshifting rat," Scout announced in a bored tone. Then, abruptly, he wondered how his mother would feel about this. In the next instant, he realized he didn't quite care. After all, his ma' had been with many men during Scout's childhood. One stupid Frenchie wouldn't make a difference.

Medic arrived shortly after, Heavy following the German as quickly as he could, aiming Sasha out into the hallway, searching for enemies. Medic knelt beside the RED, examining him quickly. Then, with a glint in his eye, the German leaned over and pressed against the back of the spy's neck,  _hard._

RED's Spy screamed.

* * *

Scout had returned to Sniper's nest after the incident with the spy, though he had outlived his usefulness in such a position. He was a little shaken up after what he had seen, remembering all too well the single point of agony that had been in his own neck with a sudden clarity.

Is that what Medic had messed with when he had gone under? The runner shook his head, trying to get the memory to go away.

"'re you alright, mate? You've been shaking your head for the last ten minutes," Sniper asked, and Scout realized he had not been looking into his scope. Silence filled the air outside too, and he realized the battle must have ended. When had that happened?

"'m fine…" he muttered in return, putting away his Scattergun almost sheepishly, as if having it out after the battle was something to be ashamed of.

"Maybe you were right about not killin' their spy. 'e seems to have caught Medic's interest," the Australian told him, and Scout realized that he was apologizing, in his own way.

"Thanks, man," Scout replied quietly, clasping his bandaged hands together and focusing on them.

"Somethin's botherin' you." It was not a question, Scout realized.

Instead of replying, the runner stood, shrugging, and headed toward the door. "I'll see ya' at dinner," he said, and walked out, trotting down the stairs and heading for his room. He could feel a phantom of that same agony in his neck, as if seeing it in another had prompted his body to make him suffer again. He would rather not be stumbling around like a blind drunk if it decided to hit again.

He sat in his room for a while, massaging at his neck despite the lack of real pain there. When he got too restless for that, he went out behind their base to jog a bit. Scout tossed his pack down by the door, switched off his headset, and ran.

* * *

Sniper pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, stepping in with a soft greeting to Heavy and a nod. Scanning the white area, he spotted the enemy spy stretched out on a cot, and he scowled. "So, yew didn' kill 'im, 'eh?"

" _Nein_. Zhere is so little zhat a dead body can tell me, but a  _live_  one? Zhere is no end to such information! And he might even tell his secrets," Medic replied, pulling Spy's earphones from his pocket and showing them to the Australian.

"'ah still think we should kill 'im," he grumbled, glaring at the RED.

"And vaste a perfectly good specimen?  _Nein_!" The German protested with a huff.

"'Perfectly good'? Doc', 'ah think yer confused. Scout found 'im curled up on the floor." Even as he said that, his expression soured further – what kind of a man would ever be caught curled up in a ball on the floor? Ridiculous.

"And zhat is vhy he is perfect!" Upon further inspection, Sniper saw that the spy was strapped down to the cot, his limbs stretched out fully.

"Wotever, mate," he muttered, nonplussed, approaching the restrained RED. The enemy he hated most could do little more than twitch and glare – and speak. Even though it was not his own handiwork, the Australian could not help but smirk triumphantly. "Can't do much like this, can ye', ya' spook?" he taunted.

RED's Spy glared at him, even though his teeth were gritted. The man exhaled shakily, paused a moment, and then snapped, "What would you know about my abilities, bushman?"

"I'm sure I could ask Doc' over there if I had any doubts. Looks te'h me like yew can't move a finger." Sniper looked down at the spy, and the RED flipped him off. "Huh. So yew  _can_  move a wee bit. 'ah think I know yer abilities now, yeh weasel."

"Do you really, now." The spy pulled together his best attempt at appearing bored, but the underlying pain cut through the mask, and Sniper was not impressed. As the RED fidgeted and squirmed, trying to get out of his bonds, the Australian leaned against the wall, watching him for a while – who knew what the Frenchman could do while Medic's back was turned? With each fidget and twist, Sniper's grin only grew.

"Wot's the matter, spook? Can't stay still fer a coupla' minutes?" Sniper shook his head. "How yew ever snuck into our base is past me – ya'd need to stand still fer too long!"

"Oh, and  _you're_  one to talk, you filthy jarman! All you do is sit in your cardboard 'nest!' You do not even leave to piss! I have no idea how you became a sniper- you would have to  _walk_  to find your targets!" the RED spat hatefully, refusing to back down despite his overwhelming disadvantage.

"At least I wouldn't twitch like a jackrabbit all the way!"

"And you  _would_  move slower than a tortoise!" the spy harrumphed, adding, "if at all!"

"You'd be throwin' looks over yer shoulder every second! Wot, 're yew afraid yer  _shadow_  would get ya'?"

"If you knew  _anything_  about undercover work, you would know that such is an enemy's best hiding spot!"

"Bloody 'ell, they were right when they said no one likes a spook – even their own shadows 're out ta' git 'em!" Sniper laughed, and watched as the RED winced, pulling a strange face. The expression was gone as fast as it had come, returning back to that furious glower.

"At least I know how to cover my own back. Do you know how many times you have simply let me  _walk right behind you_  and stab you? I cannot keep count any longer!"

"Yeah? D'ya know how many times I've gotten a perfect headshot on ya' just because yer twitches are so  _predictable_? Yew keep habits like a desperate civilian!" Sniper shook his head slowly, his triumphant grin beginning to feel forced.

"And what about you! Your mantra of ' _professionals have standards'_  is a list of principles you only  _wish_  you could abide by! What kind of professional  _collects his own piss_?" The spy strained against the bindings holding him down, raising his head to better glare at Sniper.

"At least I  _have_  standards! Yew would backstab yer own  _team_  if yew thought you could get somethin' outta' it!" the Australian snarled, hands curling into fists. The RED flinched then, and Sniper frowned, bewildered for a moment. Had he hit a nerve? "Hah! 'Course yew would. 'S what a spy does, ain't it?"

The spy groaned, his head falling back against the cot. "Shut up, convict," he grumbled.

"Wot was 'at? 'Ah couldn't quite hear ya'!" Sniper responded, raising his voice.

"Shut. Up. Bushman," the RED repeated.

"And why should I, ya' spook? Did 'ah hit a nerve? Did ya' backstab yer own teammates? Were they surprised yer a traitor?" Sniper asked, watching the spy carefully.

" _Mon dieu_! For a lazy jarman, you certainly love talking, don't you?" the RED snapped, though it seemed as if he were pressing closer to the mattress of the cot, trying to curl up.

"'s'not every day I git ta' see yew like this, yeh' mongrel," Sniper shot back. The spy growled something that the Australian could not catch, and Sniper was suddenly aware that something was probably very off. He had never known RED's Spy for a pansy – and he certainly would never admit that he was in pain to an enemy. Or discomfort. Or whatever it was.

And then the spy moaned, his voice cracking in agony.

"Oi, Doc', wot's wrong wit' 'im?" Sniper asked, looking away from the RED for just a moment.

"I believe he has zhe same thing Scout vas suffering from. Zhat,  _Herr_  Sniper, is vhy he is perfect. I am trying to see exactly vhat is causing it, how it is contracted, if it is contagious—"

"Alroight, alroight, Doc', 'ah get it. Yeh' want ta' use 'im and figure things out. 'Ah'll just leave ye' to it." Sniper tipped his hat to the doctor, walking away from the bound and pained spy without looking back. Frankly, the idea of keeping a prisoner and not killing him,  _or_  getting information from him bothered him. Especially if it was RED's Spy. _Maybe 'ah'm biased,_  he thought as he let the doors swing shut behind him.

* * *

Scout was  _bored_. The day's battle had ended, and as soon as Medic had shown up to take away RED's spy, he had been shut out of everything and anything that was happening with the prisoner. The others had expressed various opinions on taking a captive, but, as Soldier put it, "They took you in without a thought about it, Private. We are returning the favor!"

And as long as they didn't kill him, he didn't really have much cause to complain. Besides, Medic seemed excited, as if taking RED's Spy captive could bring him closer to some answer or another. Scout didn't really care – one less spy on the battlefield was one less enemy to watch out for. And if he was safely contained, then he wouldn't be killed by an errant bullet or rocket.

Most of the team had returned to their quarters, save for Sniper and Engineer, who were conversing in the mess hall over cups of coffee. Scout didn't quite feel like interrupting them – who knew what they were talking about, anyway? So, the runner decided to go see Medic and their RED captive. The German had ordered him to come in every evening, to check for any changes in his 'condition'. Whatever. Besides, he had a few questions for the spy. Rather, just one. And this was his chance to get an answer.

With that in mind, he hurried to the hospital wing, deep within their base. He popped through the doors so quickly that Heavy – who was standing by them as usual – snatched him out of the air, his grip suffocatingly tight. Scout yelped in pain, twisting in the vain hope that he could relieve the pressure on his still-aching ribs. Heavy dropped him almost instantly, pulling his hand back as if it had been burned.

"Am sorry, leetle Scout surprised me!" he explained, worried.

"'s'fine, big guy. I ain't hurt," Scout replied, fixing his shirt with a grin at the Russian.

"Ah, zhere you are!" Medic called, looking up from his work at the commotion.

"Yeah man. Here I am," Scout replied, entering the room. His gaze locked onto RED's Spy immediately, and his stomach dropped away from him in the same instant. He grasped the wall beside him desperately for support, the wave of nausea pushing through him suddenly. The room spun slightly, and he barely spotted Medic scrutinizing him. The sight of the RED, bound and twitching, brought the phantom pain back to his own neck. He fought to look away, feeling a little better the moment he managed to do so. "What the fuck is wrong with me…?" he asked quietly. Scout's gaze fell upon Medic, who was frowning deeply at him.

"I vill need to look into zhis…you should have been cured," Medic murmured to himself. He turned, putting his hand to his chin in thought, and turned to leave the room without another word. Scout realized that this was probably his perfect chance to get his answer, but if it made him sick to just  _look_  at the spy, how was the RED coping with it?

"Hey, man…" he managed, not meeting the RED's gaze or even looking at him. Scout fought to chase off the last of the nausea, and he turned until he could just see the spy in his peripheral vision. When nothing of distasteful nature happened, he risked another glance.

Nothing.

So he looked over fully, and realized he was being stared at. He flinched, expecting the nausea, but it never came.

"What does ze leetle rabbit wish to say to me?" the RED asked, looking quite disinterested with the whole affair. If he was suffering from the same thing that Scout had been, then he should be in excruciating pain, shouldn't he?

"Why didn't ya' kill me?" he asked suddenly, looking straight into the spy's eyes. The RED actually winced, looking sorrowful for just a moment, and then the mask was back. He was his usual infuriatingly calm self in just an instant.

"Shouldn't ze leetle bunny be grateful I spared him?" the RED asked sardonically, and Scout frowned.

"Sure, whatever ya' want, just tell me  _why_."

"Why? Because I wanted to."

"Ya' stupid, good-fer-nothin' spy! Tell me why you didn't kill me!" Scout may let Soldier order him around, and his teammates command his moves in battle, but he was not going to let this answer get away from him. " _Tell me_."

"Fine, since ze leetle rabbit wants so desperately to know," RED's Spy huffed, twitching again within his constraints. "I did not kill you because the news on respawn shocked me, and I was not quite certain what I should do. Are you pleased now?"

"Yeah, sure, man," he responded, before turning to leave. That had not been as exciting as he had hoped—

A sudden, shuddering explosion derailed his train of thought, and as the floor began to shake, he felt his legs giving out beneath him, leaving him slumped against the wall, the nausea returning in a flash of dizziness. As the room turned to chaos, he struggled to get his bearings.

* * *

As debris began to flutter down from the ceiling, Heavy grabbed his Sasha and set the barrel spinning. "Behind me, doktor!" he called, and a moment later he heard the clatter of metal on metal. Medic was at his back a moment later, armed with his syringe gun – his medi-gun strapped to his back.

"This is  _not_  a drill, men! We are being attacked!" Soldier yelled over the channel.

"Th' front a' the base collapsed! Engineer went down t'a respawn, and…oi Demo! You there?" Silence followed Sniper's question. "…I'll keep lookin' for 'im." The Australian said, and the sound of rummaging floated over the channel for a moment before cutting out.

"Come along now, doktor!" Heavy shouted, hardly waiting for the German's "Ja!" to burst through the doors, roaring in anger. Soon enough, REDs began to charge down the hallway, led by their Heavy. The Russians glared, but before anyone could say a word, Heavy fired, and fire, the RED responded similarly, the spinning of their gun barrels deafeningly loud. The enemy had no Medic hiding behind him, so he crouched suddenly, leaving Heavy's aim off for a couple of precious seconds. He fixed the mistake, and was so focused on destroying his RED counterpart that he did not notice the RED Soldier popping up from behind his teammate until it was too late. The sound of that rocket firing shattered the sudden silence, and Heavy's world shrunk to the point of that speeding missile.

He dropped Sasha and shoved backwards, throwing Medic back into the hospital wing and away from himself.

And then the rocket punched into his chest, the explosion throwing molten shards of lead into him. He groaned, feeling the distinct sensation of falling as the world grew cold. Heavy was aware of nothing but the darkness, the shout of distress, and the fading warmth of hands on his back.

"Heavy!  _Scheisse!_ " Medic was forced to let go of the large Russian, letting his body fall to the floor despite how much it pained him, in order to keep his life. He rushed back into the medicinal bay, taking cover far back in the room, past the RED Spy's cot. Once he was safely behind cover, he noticed Scout by the door, still dazed. He could only hope the boy would not get up and run – he could not risk drawing attention to either of them just now. He pressed himself closer to the wall he was hiding behind when he heard the doors bang open, clutching his bone-saw tightly, his syringe gun abandoned earlier.

"Spy!" cried a RED, his voice cracking. That would be their young Scout, then. "Oh God, Solly, 's he alright?"

"Quiet, cupcake! There's still some god-damned BLU's around!" The Soldier barked as he scanned the room. Scout seemed to have gotten lucky, as a cart had rolled in front of his hiding place when the REDs burst into the room. "Heavy, get Spy and let's go!"

"Yes!" Their Russian shouted, rushing over and ripping the straps off of the RED's cot. Medic clutched his saw tight to his chest and did his best to stifle any breath. Three REDs at least. A massacre if he was found. Even  _with_  Scout with him. "Can walk, Spy?"

"O-oui, I am fine," came the shaky answer from the enemy Frenchman. The RED Scout let out a sound of worry, and then the sound of movement grew louder again. It seemed that they were leaving. Medic exhaled slowly, still too shaken to move.

"Get out of here, team! I'll bring the roof down if I can!" The RED general barked. And then the sound of another whistling rocket shot by, hitting the area where the far wall and roof met. A hole appeared, and cracks spread out from the weakened area, bringing down pieces of concrete. Another whistle, and the rest of the area connected to the roof blew away, and then the sounds of boots stomping away filled the silence. Then the roof began to creak.

Medic let out a shout before the whole ceiling collapsed.

* * *

"Doc'? Scout? Soldier, they're not answerin'!" Sniper shouted, using his worry to give him strength, lifting another piece of concrete from the pile in the mess hall, still trying to find Demo, holding out hope that he was alright.

"I've chased off them damned REDs! Heading down to the hospital wing! Get your ass over here after you find Demo!" Soldier growled, and Sniper murmured agreement, bending down to grab a large piece of ceiling and lifting with all his might. And finally, he was rewarded with the sight of Demo's boot. He rushed over and lifted another slab of concrete, revealing Demo. The Scot looked mostly whole, so he grabbed the man and pulled him out of the pile, shouting at him to wake him up.

"Wha-?" the man finally grumbled, slowly opening his eye. Sniper sighed in relief and waved his hand in the Scot's face, until it was slapped away. This put the rest of the Australian's worries at ease, and he cracked a smile.

"Can ye' walk?" He asked, hefting his rifle higher onto his shoulder and looking out into the hall.

"Yeah. 'm fine. I'll catch up to ye'," he grumbled, waving Sniper off and grabbing a bottle of Scrumpy. The Australian rolled his eyes and walked off.

"Where's that Russian when you need him?" Soldier grumbled over the channel, and a moment of silence passed, with Sniper getting ever closer to the hospital wing. Just as he reached the hallway, he heard Soldier let out a shout of frustrated dismay, and the Australian saw a large pair of boots sticking out from the rubble, even from this distance. He pushed the strap of his gun further up his shoulder and jogged forward, over to the general.

"Heavy? 's 'e alright?" Sniper asked, setting his gun down and moving to help Soldier pull the rubble off of the Russian. It took mere moments for them to see the stain of blood around the man, and, with plummeting hopes, to find that there was far, far too much blood to have left the man alive. Regardless, the two labored to pull all the concrete off of their teammate, and then pulled Heavy to the side of the hallway, leaving him to take care of later. The thought that their teammates might be alive under all that rubble made them hurry.

They spoke little, fearing to break the silence, and fearing to receive silence for their calls to teammates.

Scout came to in a dark place. First he opened his eyes and saw only darkness. Then he reached out with his hands, and felt them scrape against something rough, inciting pain in already injured limbs. He slowly, methodically, explored the wall to its end, and then around him, the fearful knot in his stomach growing ever tighter as it dawned on him that there was no path out. He wasn't blind, he had gotten trapped. Trapped in darkness, and a space barely large enough for him to curl up in.

He tried to think back, back to what had happened to get him stuck here, but his mind was all a-fuddle, and the only thing he could clearly remember was the whole world shaking around him.

_Something's happened._  His earpiece was dead silent, even the usual static barely there, just on the edge of hearing. Another sound joined it, but, being so quiet, Scout could not place it, and all he could do was sit, pressed up against the wall. He felt around himself once more, searching for even a small escape.

But there was nothing.

Just darkness.

* * *

"Find anythin'?" Sniper asked, grunting as he lifted another slab of concrete, pulling it away from the collapsed pile. The stars shone in through the roof, bathing the room in a pale darkness, the moon providing a little light. The natural light and electricity clashed in the doorway to the ruined hospital wing, creating a pattern of shifting light, and it made Sniper feel as if he was leaving the world behind to delve in ruins.

Perhaps he was.

"No, but we've been digging around in the middle! Check along the walls!" Soldier twisted it into an order, as he always did, and the Australian complied anyway. He headed along the left wall, finding nothing despite the small shouts he made, despite the searching and the lifting.

Eventually he couldn't lift even the smallest of pieces anymore, and had to stop for breaks more and more often. Soldier seemed to be tiring similarly, and Sniper looked over at him after they had both paused, looking into the rubble before them, the days and days of work to clear it out, Heavy dead just outside, Spy conveniently disappeared, and Engineer working frantically on the Respawn machine. It was just then that Sniper realized just how disadvantaged they had become in the space of one battle.  _One_  attack! Two team members missing, one injured, another dead. They wouldn't stand a chance if they kept up how they did. He didn't even think a single RED had been killed. Mostly they had been scrambling to defend themselves.

"We'll…We'll stop for tonight." Soldier seemed unsure even as he said it, but another glance at the ruins, washed in starlight, seemed to cement his decision. "Yes. Return here after breakfast!" And with that, he straightened and walked away.

Sniper supposed he understood, especially considering that they were looking for team members who may not have even been in this room – for all the Australian knew, they could be captives of RED. Still, he could not bring himself to leave. Something about the pile of rubble told him that there were people under it, that his teammates were there.

And what of Scout? The kid that he had started looking after without even realizing it? Poor rascal didn't seem to have any kind of dad where he came from, and he'd gravitated towards Sniper from the beginning. Even though the Australian had been sour and grumpy.

He thought back to the bacon he'd left in the kitchen, the wild, carefree grin on the kid's face when he'd seen it, not realizing it had been put there for him, thinking he'd stumbled on them with luck. Better to keep it that way, he supposed.

Sniper grabbed for his rifle and placed it in his lap, leaning against the doorframe, half in the electrical light, half in the starlight. This was as good a place as any to spend the night, and he couldn't just turn his back on his team.

Not that easily.

* * *

Scout waited, waited, and waited, trying to keep calm, to keep the fear down. Someone would come. Someone would say something. Do something. Someone would find him.

He had to keep telling himself this, though. He didn't believe it.

He was going to die here in the darkness.

Scout's hands wrapped around his legs and dug into the skin of his shins, as he swallowed thickly, trying to push down his fears. Just because he'd always hated the dark didn't mean he was going to die. Just because he couldn't get up and run all the extra energy off didn't mean this was the end. Someone would find him, they had to. He wouldn't die alone here.

He couldn't.

 


	6. Day Six

Scout dreamed of  _home_ that night, for what must have been the first time in six years.

He dreamed of his seven brothers, and how life used to be before he'd been picked up by BLU. Not that it was a life to look back on fondly. None of them had had it easy, least of all their ma, who'd had to deal with the slow loss of each of her children, in one way or another.

The first, eldest of them all, killed by accident in a territory war by one of the local gangs. The second, given a life sentence in jail for murdering members of the gang that had killed his brother. The third and fourth, pressed into service for that very gang who'd just lost a couple of thugs, the fifth and sixth forced into service for a rival gang, and the seventh and eighth – Scout being the eighth – still in high school. All Scout had wanted for his life was to play baseball professionally. But how was he to get noticed by anyone when his brothers were too busy fighting to even pay attention to him? How could anyone else care if his own family didn't?

The fifth and sixth had ended up in a territory war against their own brothers, and both the third and the fourth had been killed. Scout had been furious – how could his own brothers kill each other? He'd been walking home from school one day, bat in hand, when members of the gang that had lost the territory war – the very gang Scout's third and fourth brothers had been in – had approached him, demanding that he join them or face the consequences. They painted numerous scenes for him – kill his remaining brothers, take his ma and keep her with them, beat him to a pulp – and still he said no. They demanded once more, pulling out their own guns, when Scout rushed forward, swinging his bat at the head of the leader. The man went down swearing, his gun dropping to the floor. The others tried to shoot at Scout, but he'd always been fast, and he got past them before they could fire, beating them down too. No one could threaten his ma and get away with it. He stood over the bodies, debating killing them, when he heard the sirens. Better not to stick around, then.

He'd run away, back home, to his ma and his last three brothers. The rest were dead and gone, and his ma was crushed to hear it. She'd suffered so much for the eight of them, and all she got for it was heartbreak. He came back with a bloody bat that dragged on the floor, and her hand went to her mouth.

"Oh, Scout," she'd murmured, standing and rushing over to hug him, all the while checking him for bruises and broken bones. This was a routine they both knew well, and yet unfamiliar all the same, because often the brothers would take care of each other, so ma didn't have to see. She knew, and they knew she knew, but it was a gesture nonetheless.

"'m fine, Ma," he'd replied, hugging her in return, hand clinging to his battered and dented bat. "'m faster'n 'em all." A proud grin accompanied that statement.

"Of course you are, you always have been, dear," she'd answered with a soft smile.

Shortly after that day, he'd been confronted by men in suits emerging from dark cars, telling him they'd seen his prowess, his ruthlessness, his speed, and they had a job to offer him. It paid fantastically, they said, and Scout was instantly interested. True, he'd always wanted to play baseball, but his ma needed the money, now that she'd lost four of eight children. And if this job could make him rich, then he could just quit one day and go and play baseball. Even if it did mean dropping out of school. So they took him along in their car, saying he could only go home to grab his gear and say goodbye to ma – unexplained absences didn't work for long – and then they'd be off. So he got home late, to a worried ma, and he told her how he'd found a job that would drown them in riches, and the money would get sent straight to her, without him needing to even see it. She'd fretted over him, saying he'd need the spending money, or that he'd be far, and would he be so kind as to write every week? But he convinced her it was a good setup – and who knew it? The youngest of them all would be the richest. He didn't count the fifth and sixth brothers, who would get rich from their gang-related job. Doubtless they wouldn't share much of it with ma, since they had to get homes and food and such. But the men had told him that he was not going to need any of the flood of money they'd be giving him. He'd be fed, clothed, boarded, and equipped with whatever gear he needed. And all that money would go to his ma and she could be rich too, and move out of this awful neighborhood, and get a real house.

Scout had been drunk on fantasy back then. Could he be blamed, though? An absent father – or four, if the rumors were true – and a bad neighborhood would make any kid wistful.

So he'd been carted off to TeuFort and his team of eight, where the work had begun—

A yell, enraged or pained, one couldn't tell, awoke Scout with a start, and he reached for his weapons instinctively, hand closing around his bat and pulling it out to swing. But there was no room to do so, and his arm scraped against the roof of his enclosure, and he panicked, trapped in the dark. But he had to remember, he wasn't back in Boston, stuck in a dead end with a gang hard on his heels. No, he was in his own base, trapped under a collapsed ceiling. He put his bat back in his bag, slowly, testing the walls as he went, hoping to push one away. But they were all pressed solidly against him. No way out, unless someone pulled the roof from him. Someone like Heavy.

But he'd been killed last night. The recent events rushed back, and Scout cringed at the memories, searching for light in the small area around him. And then he was struck with something from his dream. His ma had called him Scout. But…that wasn't his name. No one had called him Scout before he was assigned a role here. Scout sat, frowning. If that wasn't his name, what was? And how come he'd never dreamed of home before? The scowl grew as he moved to touch the bandages on his neck. And how come he'd been able to see Spy? Something wasn't right here, something beyond Respawn's malfunction.

A crash broke through his reverie, and he flinched, pressing back against the wall, listening.

"Sniper! Get that slab over there!" That was Soldier. So he'd made it through the attack, and so had Sniper, apparently. Scout couldn't help but wonder, for just a moment, what their real names were, before he banged against the concrete, shouting.

"In here! I'm here!" Someone shouted in response, and the crashes and clangs came more often, as concrete was moved out of the way. A few minutes later, and the slab above his head was torn away, light pouring in. Scout flinched away, his eyes screwing shut, waiting for them to adjust. Just as they did, he was hoisted out of that hole by Sniper, who seemed endlessly relieved that he was still breathing. He coughed, expelling dust he'd swallowed on his way out, and grinned at the Australian.

"Takes more'n a fallin' roof ta' kill me, man! Ya' look like ya' thought I was gone," he said as he was put down, brushing dust off his shoulders and his bag, reaching in to check on his weapons. Sniper's face fell for a moment, glancing over at the far wall of the room, and Scout peered over there too. "What's up?" he asked, stepping over there.

"Medic's dead. So's Heavy. An' Demo's in a bad way. We were hopin' fer' Medic ta' help 'im out." Scout frowned.

"Spy?"

"Missing," was the Australian's terse reply, and Scout could tell he wasn't pleased with that fact. For all they knew, Spy was hiding somewhere, totally safe.

"And Engineer?"

"Fine. He was down at Respawn when everything fell ta' pieces. They didn' find 'im." Scout nodded, tallying up their numbers in his head. Just six of them left, if they could find Spy, and if Demo was alright. Otherwise, they were down to four. And RED had seven. This was looking bad.

Soldier seemed to follow the same train of thought, his scowl deep. "We attack in…in…" but he seemed to realize that without a Heavy, without a Medic, they didn't have much chance of anything beyond defense. And without sentries, they barely had that. If Spy didn't show, if Demo didn't get better…there were too many ifs. "Refortify the base!" He shouted instead, and Scout couldn't help but roll his eyes. Soldier would never admit that he'd said anything different, nor admit that he didn't plan on attacking. But he knew that he couldn't live to fight another day if he'd lost all his men. Better to save the fight for when they were better equipped to deal with it.

Scout left with Sniper, and the bodies of Heavy and Medic were left in the hospital room. BLU had never had to deal with a dead body – Respawn soon snatched it away and replaced it with a living person – and so they just ignored them, the elephants in the room.

"'m glad yer' okay, mate," Sniper said, and Scout punched him in the shoulder, smiling fondly. He supposed he would have been scared too, if he'd found Medic dead, and was just searching for another body, especially if it were Sniper. Worse still, he'd never heard them calling, and they must have thought him dead. He imagined Sniper stuck in the concrete, and wondered how he'd have coped. Sniper was like a father to him, the only one he'd ever known. The Australian was gruff and irritated around the others, but he was amusing and almost cheerful – in his own way – around Scout. They'd become fast friends, and Scout knew, easily, that if he lost Sniper, he probably would have reacted in the same way RED's Heavy had after he lost their Medic.

"Me too, man, me too." He looked over at the wall, staring at the blue stripe painted along it as they walked toward Respawn, to find Engineer. "But I had a dream last night. 'bout home, I mean." Sniper's gaze snapped to him, and he realized this wasn't normal for him either. "'cept everyone kept callin' me Scout." He shook his head. "When I woke up, I knew that wasn't my name, but…I can't 'member it." He looked away sheepishly, as if he knew that he should know his name, as if all the others did.

"'at's funny," Sniper mused, "Ah can't 'member mine neither." Scout looked up at him, and met a gaze that was about as confused as his own.

"'s been six years, but it's not that easy ta' ferget yer' own name…" Scout frowned, and sped up just slightly, Sniper matching his speed. "Maybe Engineer'll know."

"Maybe," the Australian agreed, though he sounded dubious.

When they reached the Respawn room – rather, the room that powered Respawn – they found Engineer still sitting at the computer, wires spilling around him as he tinkered. He turned around to look at the two of them, and frowned.

"Heavy and Medic are gone, huh?" he asked, searching their faces for an answer.

"Yeah—" Scout started to say, but was interrupted by Sniper.

"How'd you know?" the Australian demanded. Engineer stared at the two for a moment, before heaving a great sigh and beckoning them over.

He explained the chips, the procedure they'd done on Scout, how they'd hoped it would help – and it seemed it had – and how the chip had seemed like a parasite. "But, now that Medic's gone, we can't put in Scout's chip, nor take out the rest of ours. An', ta' make it worse, that's where the headaches have been coming from." Sniper seemed to understand suddenly, and Scout wondered if everyone had been having headaches.

"When'd you two figure all o' this out?" he asked, irritated.

"Coupl'a days ago. Medic said it'd be better not ta' tell anyone. I'm startin' ta' think differently." The Texan scratched at his head, pondering. "In fact, I'm startin' ta' think it's better we gave up, her—"

"What!"

"No way, mate!"

"Woah woah, partners, hold your horses! I said it's probably better we give up  _here._ We leave the base. Take over another Respawn system, load up our info, and respawn there." Engineer rushed to get it all out, and as Scout thought on it, it didn't seem too bad of an idea. Maybe it  _was_  better to cut and run.

"But we don't even know where the next base is. I mean, I've only seen them from the inside. We've never been transported with anything other than teleporters…" Scout protested, even though he agreed with the Texan's plan. Hopefully Soldier didn't catch wind of it.

"They can't be too far. The teleporters aren't built for long distance. We've never had a bad transfer, which means it can't be all that far."

"What's 'far'?"

"Hundred miles? Maybe two hundred. Can't give ya' an exact number, I've never tried to run schematics for it."

"A hundred miles!" Sniper exclaimed. It was an easy enough distance to cover by vehicle, but all of theirs – like Sniper's RV – had been confiscated on arrival. On foot? That distance wasn't an easy one to cover, especially considering that there was no cover from the sun around TeuFort.

Engineer shrugged. "I don't see any other way."

"What do we tell Soldier? And what about Demo?" Scout asked, crossing his arms.

"Well, if you make it—"

"Me?"

"Of course you, mate," Sniper interjected, "You're the fastest. Most likely ta' make it out in one piece, too. You're used to dodging and running."

"I guess…"

"Anyway, if you make it, we don't need to worry about who's died and who hasn't. Respawn will take care o' that. Plus,  _you_ have to go, because if you die, there's no comin' back. You've lost your chip. There's no expectin' Respawn ta' pick you up," Engineer explained, calmly, slowly. Scout frowned, suddenly hit with the weight of what he had to do. How far he had to run. How his team was depending on him. How they were trusting him with their  _lives._

"And Pyro? Heavy? Medic?"

"Heavy and Medic'll be fine. But Pyro…well…his log was wiped when he died, before we knew what to do. There's no bringing him back."

"But you saved them? The logs?" Scout prompted, and Engineer nodded, pulling out a small stick from his toolbox.

"You take this, you stick it into the Respawn machine you find – like so," he pointed where, without actually plugging in the memory stick, "and ta-da. It's all programmed to work and bring us back as soon as it finds us dead."

"Yeah, alright. Makes sense. I guess." Scout wasn't happy at the thought of having to leave his teammates, but it was all too logical for him to deny leaving. He couldn't risk his life when there was no guarantee of coming back – rather, the guarantee of him  _not_ coming back was there. And no one else could outrun RED's scout like he could.

"When do we do this?" Sniper asked.

"Tonight."

* * *

Scout nodded grimly, taking the offered memory stick from Engineer. "I call dibs on not telling Soldier!" he exclaimed.

Sniper turned to Engineer with a shrug, saying, "You know more 'bout this stuff than I do, mate." He stepped back, shaking his head. Engineer sighed, but didn't argue.

"'sides, you're better at convincing people t'agree with ya', man!" Scout added, smiling crookedly. The Texan seemed to be in a better mood, after that, and the two left him there, still tinkering with the machine, even though it was useless at this point.

Sniper and Scout headed up to the rafters, peeking out through the side of the protective walls to get a better look at the RED base. All seemed quiet over there, and Scout couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. "Maybe they're leaving us alone fer' a day," he murmured, and Sniper snorted in disbelief.

"Doubt it. They didn't lose anyone in the attack, they'd be just as well goin' after us now, since we're all disorganized. Dunno' why they aren't. 'fact, I'd be surprised if we don't see 'em today."

"Yeah, guess you're right," Scout said, and they moved back inside. "Guess there's no point in refortifying, then, huh?"

" _WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'NO POINT', MAGGOTS?"_  The roar echoed down the hallway, and Scout flinched, almost laughing at the chance of being caught saying that one thing, by Soldier of all people. He appeared at the end of the room, and stomped over. " _YOU BETTER NOT BE GIVING UP, YOU MONGRELS!"_ He'd just reached them, and they did their best to avoid plugging their ears. "Back when I was in the army, you didn't just  _give. Up._ No, you either won, or you died on the field!" Scout rolled his eyes, preparing to sit through another one of Soldier's rants, but the general stopped, then. "Why aren't you two refortifying the walls?!"

"Better ask Engineer," Sniper supplied quickly, tilting his head in the direction of the Respawn room. Scout resisted touching the memory stick in his pocket. If he lost it, it was over. For all of them.

* * *

The day passed slowly, achingly slowly, and Engineer spent the afternoon trying to get Medic's gun to work on Demo. Unfortunately, it had been destroyed in the building collapse, and everyone's spirits seemed to drop at that. Soldier stayed holed up in his war room, pacing back and forth, angry that his team – whatever was left of it – was backing out. Spy was nowhere to be found. Sniper sat down at the shooting range, and Scout was left jogging around the base, desperately wishing he could go for a run outside. Too dangerous though, now.

By the time the sun set, he was twitchy and fidgety. It didn't help to hear that Demo had fallen into a coma, and there wasn't much they could do for him now. Too much internal bleeding meant he would die soon, if the concussion that had put him into the coma didn't first.

When Engineer finally decided it was dark enough for Scout to be able to sneak out, they gathered in the Supply room. It was just the four of them, now. Four when it used to be nine. Scout was reminded of his family. Four brothers where there used to be eight, now four members of BLU where there used to be nine. Was he doomed to this for his whole life?

No. He could change it, this time. Death  _wasn't_  permanent. Not if he succeeded.

"You ready to go, kiddo?" Engineer asked, looking him over. Scout nodded, not even bothering to correct him, not with such an important – and dangerous – task looming over his head.

Just then, a thunderous boom shook the base, and Scout cursed. Sniper had been right – RED wouldn't leave them alone for long. As if he needed RED on his tail while he tried to cut a hole out of the fence.

"Time to go, _ladies_!" Soldier shouted, and they nodded. The plan was that Soldier would lead the attack, Engineer would be his backup, and Sniper would make sure Scout got out of the bases. Once the runner was out of sight, he'd go and help the other two, futile though it may be.

Scout waved goodbye to Soldier and Engineer. Soldier saluted him, and Engineer waved back. The Texan smiled at him, and so did Soldier, in his own way. Which was an expression of stoicism. He nodded to the two and rushed down an opposite hall with Sniper. Around twisting hallways, to the side of the base, where – hopefully – none of the REDs were. If they did decide to go that way, well, Sniper had his bow, and Scout his Scattergun. Though he planned on saving ammo, because he might need it later, depending on how hard it was to get into the other bases.

Scout was running just behind Sniper, routinely glancing back to make sure they weren't being followed. On just one of those lookarounds, Scout heard a flurry of sound, and he was suddenly grabbed from the front and shoved against the wall, his attacker groaning in pain. He bristled, about to attack, when he realized it was Sniper. And then he saw the shiv sticking out of the Australian's stomach, glistening wetly. He barely held himself up against the wall, much less Scout, and the runner was left grasping for a response in shock.

"Go on. Git," Sniper forced out, almost choking on the words. He finally released Scout in order to reach for his own kukuri. "It'll be…my  _pleasure_ …to take care of this weasel."

Scout wanted to protest, he wanted to pull out his bat and help, he wanted to kill RED's Sniper, but he knew that all of these would spell disaster. Sniper had thrown himself in the way to keep Scout safe – he couldn't waste it.

So he ran.

He slipped out from under Sniper, turned, and  _ran._ He made it and skidded around the corner before RED's sniper even had the chance to spin and see him. Considering going through the sewers, but deciding it was better to just take his chances outside, he knew he would be able to run past anyone out there, and escape.

Moments later, he was outside, in the quiet air. Safer than in the base, where he could hear the sounds of battle echoing in the dead air. He breathed a sigh of relief, and headed toward the fence, the one topped with barbed wire, that they'd always known to be electrified. But it wasn't now. The buzzing was gone, leaving only silence.

Scout glanced around, searching for enemies, finding none at first. And then he froze, spotting RED's Spy approaching purposefully, hoping he hadn't been spotted.

As his luck would have it, of course he had. So this adventure would end as it began.

"Come to finish what you started?" he asked spitefully.

"Quite the opposite, little bunny. I came to make sure you get out."

"What?" Scout waiting for the trap to spring, for the catch, for anything. But it wasn't forthcoming. Not even a request to take RED's logs to another base. Then again, maybe they hadn't figured it out. BLU had always been the higher-class team. RED had simply been the one that worked together better, excelling in teamwork and group life.

"As I said. I am here to assist you in escaping. What, you think I didn't know?" he laughed. "Just because you can see me does not mean I cannot observe the goings-on in your base." He smirked, and Scout noted that he seemed perfectly alright, suddenly. Maybe they'd figured out how to use the medigun. Maybe it  _could_ cure the headaches. Or maybe Medic had taken out the spy's chip. Not that any of that mattered.

"And why would you want to help  _me?_ Unless you've suddenly gone colorblind, I'm BLU. Not your teammate."

"No, but you are my son."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops cliffhanger


	7. End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes down to this.

Scout froze, and then felt the rage coil within him. It flared up, burned through him, until he was on fire. "No, you're not," he responded vehemently.

The RED seemed confused, frowning. "But of course I am, you may ask your mozher if you believe otherwise."

"A scumbag like you ain't my pa, no matter what ya' say." Scout spat on the ground for emphasis. Who did this RED think he was, coming up to him  _now,_ to say he was his dad? This was a ploy, he was sure of it. Maybe an attempt to make him feel guilty for leaving them behind, for wanting them dead. Who knew how many ways this man knew how to manipulate?

"Why else would I have left you alive when I was told Respawn was down, little rabbit?" the Spy asked him, suddenly irritated, his brows furrowed in displeasure.

"No, ya' don't understand.  _Maybe_ yer' my pa', but I don't give a shit, 'cause you weren't ever there," he started, advancing toward the RED, who began to back away, "ya' never sent  _any_ money to Ma, who coulda' used it to get outta the shithole we lived in," he held up his bat now, threatening, "an' ye've never done  _shit_ fer' me here." The bat was pointed straight at the RED's throat, who looked positively guilty now. "You. Ain't. My. Pop."

"I  _could_ not! Any of zhose actions would have exposed me, and made you and your mozher targets!" RED's Spy explained quickly, hands up in a nonthreatening gesture.

But Scout was having none of it. "yer' a lousy spy if ya' can't even protect those ya' love. Piss off, an' don't act like ya' deserve my ma. Ya'  _left_ her, an' ya' left all o' us. We don't  _want_ ya' back." The Spy tried to take hold of his bat, to placate him, but Scout jerked away and spun on his heel. The RED wouldn't hurt him, so he had no qualms about turning his back on him. Not if he was really his father. Not that it mattered. Scout had done just fine without a father for sixteen years, and then he found one in Sniper. And Sniper had taken a hit to the stomach for him. Let RED's Spy try to top that.

He went cold with the realization that he had wasted all the time that Sniper had bought him, talking to this sorry excuse for a RED. He vaulted up the fence, careful about the barbed wire, and dropped down to the other side, glaring at the RED Spy before turning and jogging off.

* * *

Like he'd ever accept that bastard for a father. Who did he think he was, treating him like he should hop into his  _loving_ arms and be a happy family? As if. It was one thing to wrong Scout, but a whole different thing to wrong his Ma. Scout couldn't forgive a rich asshole who  _wouldn't_ send his Ma money. He'd heard about ways to get money across the world secretly, with offshore bank accounts or something. Not that he knew how. But it was possible. All those lies RED's Spy had spouted wouldn't have convinced him for the world. Not ever.

He shook his head, taking his mind off the subject as he ran, inwardly chiding himself for being so bothered by one annoying Frenchie. Instead, he pulled his bag out in front of him and took an inventory. A week's worth of beef jerky, if he was careful, and a couple of days' worth of water, if he didn't do anything stupid. A couple of days to run a hundred miles. Well, he could finally put his endurance to the test.

* * *

On the second day, he twisted his ankle on a rock he hadn't seen, and he had to slow down to a walk. As much as he tried to speed up, it hurt too much, and he growled in frustration, sliding a hand into his pocket to check for the memory stick, as he did all too often now. Running across the Badlands was bad enough without an injury. He'd make it though, he had to. He'd been very careful with his water – it was too easy to get dehydrated around here – and still had enough for about three days. Hopefully he'd make it. He had no idea how far he'd gone, or how far he had left to go. Or even, really, if he was running in the right direction. What if he'd been going in the wrong direction? There weren't that many bases spread out around here. He could have been heading the wrong way this whole time. Maybe he'd end up by a road, and find a city. Then again, if the other bases were anything like TeuFort, the nearby town knew all about the mercenaries, and where the bases were.

That was to be his new plan, then. Find a road, and hitchhike his way to the nearest base, which would undoubtedly be Double Cross. He reached into his bag and pulled out another piece of beef jerky, tearing at it in frustration as he limped across the desert. He'd not even had to run from pursuit – seemed like the French bastard hadn't raised the alarm. All the better, considering he couldn't run like this. Of course, why would they chase after him? They might just assume him dead. It was easier, after all. And it's not like anyone had noticed the disappearance of Spy. The goodfornothing BLU had just run off and left them high and dry.

"Damn all them Spies!" he growled, tearing off another bite of jerky. It was easier to walk when he was mad, when he could ignore the pain in his foot while he let the storm of his anger drag him on. But then he'd remember Sniper, and he'd lose all desire to keep walking. And then convince himself he had to keep moving  _because_ of Sniper. He was probably dead already – the thought made him flinch in a way it never had before – and his only way of coming back was through Scout. And what if, when someone had been dead for too long, Respawn didn't pick them up? He hurried his pace, ignoring the lance of pain that shot up his foot with every movement – he'd suffered worse,  _damn it –_ and watching the horizon hopefully.

* * *

On the third day, he saw something dark on the horizon, and held out hope that it was the canyons around Double Cross. He was able to jog now – a short nap during the hottest part of the day had given him energy – and the pain couldn't stop him if it knocked him cold. It wasn't just for Sniper any more, it was for the whole team. Soldier, who'd engineered the plan to get him out of the RED base, Spy – as much as he hated him – for fighting off RED's Soldier and finding him, Demo, who'd provided backup to get him out, Engineer, who had probably thought of pulling out his chip to help him, Medic, who'd actually done it, and Heavy, who'd brought him home that first day. And Sniper most of all. But it was for the whole team, now.

Because what else could they have become, over the past days? They'd always been a 'team', but all that meant was a group of killers who worked better alone. Some had banded together, like Heavy and Medic, or Sniper and Scout, or Soldier and Demo, but never as a whole team. Now, though, now they'd worked to each others' strengths, covered for each others' flaws, and created a unit.

Until they'd started dying, of course.

But it wasn't over. If Scout's  _stupid_ ankle would listen, and  _work_ like an ankle was supposed to, he'd be that much closer to his team coming back.

Or most of it, anyway. Pyro wasn't ever coming back. Scout reached that thought with a pang of pain, slowing down. He'd liked the firebug, wordless though he was. They'd play pranks on RED whenever they weren't fighting, or just read comics, or maybe play some video games in their downtime. And he was gone, for real, now. Scout shook his head and sped up again, trying a slow limp-jog. He managed it, and got ever closer to the dark smudge on the horizon.

* * *

On the fourth day, sometime in the night, Scout nearly fell into the canyon.

He hadn't been looking, not carefully enough – it was how he'd twisted his ankle in the first place – and found himself scrabbling backward to stay on solid ground. The canyon dropped away before him, into darkness, and he stared down. It was black and deep, as if he could fall forever in there.

No lights, anywhere.

His legs gave out underneath him, and he stared into the darkness, transfixed, hypnotized. He'd come all this way, and wound up in the  _wrong canyon!_ Of course he had – what were the chances he'd find the right place? The bases weren't easy to find even if you knew where you were going, after all.

Scout pulled out a bottle of water from his bag, drank the last of it – just a sip – and reached for another. His hand came out with just the bag of jerky, and no water. He had enough jerky to last two more days, but no more water. Pulling out a couple of pieces – to hell with rationing, he'd die without more water even if he had jerky – he tore them to bits and chewed on them angrily, dangling his legs over the canyon.

Now what? He couldn't just get up and expect to make it to civilization, not without any water to keep him going.

He decided to think about it later, and sleep the darkness away; maybe his ankle would hurt less in the morning.

* * *

Scout woke up to a circle of birds on the ground around him, staring at him as if they were trying to approach but too wary to do so. He shouted at them, calling them bird spies sent by RED, the bastards, and they flew off.

He sat up eating a bit of the jerky, regretting that he had no water to wash it down with. It had been a stupid decision to sleep the night away. It had been his only shade from the sun, and now he was stuck without water, in the full sunlight, with no destination. What was he supposed to do?

Standing up, he walked over to the canyon, staring once more into the rock-walled hallway. Just then, he saw something, another smudge in the canyon! He ran along the cliff, racing toward the blob, his ankle forgotten, and skidded to a stop when he got near.

Sure enough, it was Double Cross! Scout whooped with joy, suddenly grateful he'd stayed the night by the canyon. He could have left, given up, and been right next to his goal all along! Which made him wonder, why hadn't there been any lights on?

He shook himself of the thought and studied the cliffside, searching for a way down. The two bases straddled the canyon, one clinging to each wall, so it didn't matter what side he was on, he could easily sneak over to the right base later. Not that  _that_  mattered – he was so covered in dust and dirt that his shirt was brown instead of blue.

There was a tiny, old trail, barely visible in the dirt, worn away by time. It hadn't been used in ages. But it would have to do. Scout began to scramble down the path, slipping and sliding, doing his best to keep his footing, but really just trying to not fall off the edge. The path was too narrow, something only animals would be brave enough to traverse, but he had to do it. He pulled the memory stick out of his pocket and put it into his mouth, holding onto it tightly. Better to keep it there than in his pocket, where it could fall out at a moment's notice. He squatted and began to slide down the trail, trying to keep himself from gaining too much speed.

What felt like an hour later, he reached the bases, and stopped, staring into the wildly fought-over area. There was still the debris in the center of the bridge, the crates, the pathway below, and, strangely, no movement. No fighting. No sounds.

He slid down once more, putting the memory stick in his hand, and pushing off the cliff, jumping to clear the fence, and landing with a thud and a crunch. Scout rolled over, groaning at the pain, and pushed himself into a standing position. His injuries could wait – his team couldn't.

So he wandered into the empty base – turned out he'd ended up on RED's side of the canyon – and crossed the bridge, wary the whole time, but unable to move fast. The dehydration should have taken him by now – he hadn't been generous with his water rations –and it was an effort to move each step. His arm had been the thing to snap during his fall, and he tried to shrug it off, clutching the stick with his good hand, limping slowly, clinging to the adrenaline rush from his fall. What a sight he must be, bruised, beaten, broken, tired and thirsty.

He knew the base well, though, and so he found his way inside and down to the Respawn room, finding the machine and wrenching it open with the hand that held the memory stick. He searched for a port that looked like the one Engineer had showed him, and found it a moment later. Slowly, carefully, he slid the gadget in, and waited, shifting impatiently. A screen lit up, then, and numbers and words started flashing across it, going by too fast for Scout to see, let alone understand. He left the device and moved as quickly as he could to the Supply room, where his team  _should_ respawn.

* * *

After five minutes or so, the lights in the room dimmed, and with a flash, something appeared in the room connected to the supply room. That is, some _one._ Heavy, to be more exact.

He stumbled out, the doors sliding open with a  _whoosh,_ and stared down at his heads.

"I am  _alive_?" he asked, incredulous.

"That ya' are, man, that ya' are."

"Leetle Scout!" Heavy grinned at him, and then his face fell as he saw the runner. "You are injured!"

Scout waved if off. "I'm fine, man. Ain't nothin' a shower an' a Dispenser won't fix." At that moment, another flash slammed their eyes, and Medic appeared, clutching at his chest.

He looked down at his hands, and then up at Heavy and Scout, and smiled in relief. The German actually  _smiled._ "It is good to see you again,  _mein kamerades_!" he exclaimed, coming out to see them. Heavy clapped a hand to his shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling, and yet Medic did not seem to mind.

Another flash, and then Demo was visible, walking out surprisingly steadily. Scout wondered if he'd drunk any Scrumpy since he'd heard about Pyro. "'Ey, there ye are!" He waved to them, moving to clap Scout on the shoulder. He bit down a yelp, as the impact jostled his broken arm, but Medic saw and rushed over.

" _Mein gott,_ I knew you were dirty, but injured too?" He shook his head and studied Scout's arm, reaching for a medpack that hung against the wall.

He was setting the runner's arm – who yelled out in pain and surprise – when Engineer arrived, unnoticed. Not one to draw attention to himself needlessly, he stepped up close to observe Medic working on Scout – the kid seemed dirty and exhausted beyond belief. He remained unnoticed for a few moments, when Demo spotted him and fell over backwards in sheer shock. The others looked to him, and then the direction he had been staring at, and jumped in surprise.

"Engineer! Zere you are. No injuries, I assume?" asked Medic, all clinical professionalism again.

"Naw, I'm alright," he responded, a relieved smile on his face.

That was when Medic chose to ask exactly how they wound up here, considering the last thing he remembered was a roof falling on top of him.

As Engineer explained the plan, the surprise attack, and all of that, Soldier arrived, as if on cue. He listened for just a moment, to catch where the story was, and barged in, telling of how he and Engineer had gone out alone to fight all of RED, to buy Scout time to get out and away, how he'd seen Engineer fall to a rocket and avenged him mightily, blowing up RED's Soldier for it. Scout listened, sitting back as Medic looked to his ankle, inspecting it, turning it, listening to his hisses of pain to understand what had happened.

Sniper appeared last of all, and as the doors  _whooshed_ open, Scout's gaze snapped up, and he grinned. He knew better than to get up when Medic was looking after him, though, so he sat still as Soldier finished his tale – probably exaggerating his heroic demise – and they all turned to Scout. Waiting for  _his_  story.

So he told them. He started out with the hallway, with Sniper taking a hit for him, and staying behind to fight off his counterpart, and stopped, letting Sniper pick up. After all, he'd fought off RED's Sniper, and won, apparently, seeing as how he'd Respawned last – if they'd respawned in the order that they died, which Scout thought seemed logical.

"Wha- don't look at me. It wasn't hard ta' kill RED's Sniper. The lazy wanker is a no-good fighter. 'specially with his shiv stuck in my stomach. All Ah had ta' do was spin 'round and stab 'im through with my kukuri. Which is, of course, sharper'n his shiv. Professional standards, and all. And then I went down inta' the base, lookin' fer' some RED's ta' kill. Didn' find any, though, 'fore I bled out." He looked back at Scout, as if his story was nothing special, as if fighting off another mercenary with a big-ass knife stuck in him wasn't something to be proud of.

"I met RED's Spy on ma' way out," Scout started, and instantly, the others scowled. They all hated spies, and barely tolerated the one on BLU. "Said 'e was my dad." Sniper's frown, in particular, grew deeper, but it was unnoticeable among the others. "Said 'e wanted ta' help me get out. I told 'im ta' piss off." He grinned proudly at that. "Hopped over tha' fence an' ran. Twisted my ankle on tha' second day—"

"Pardon the interruption, kiddo, but how many days has it been?" Engineer asked thoughtfully.

"Four? I think, maybe five," Scout replied, nodding to himself. "Yeah. So, anyway, twisted my ankle, couldn't really run, an' ended up walkin' a while. I actually found the canyon, but it was night time, an' I almost fell in!" The others looked properly surprised. "Anyway, there weren't any lights in there, an' I almost  _left_ , but I stayed, ta' sleep the night, an' would ya' believe it, when I woke up, there were a bunch o' birds watchin' me!" Sniper looked at him curiously, brows furrowed. "Anyway, I checked out tha' canyon 'gain, an' there it was! Double Cross, sittin' jes' a couple miles from where I'd slept, an' I almost  _left_!" He shook his head in wonder. "'s a good thing I didn't, man. 's a good thing I didn't."

"Anyway, I had ta' find a way down, an' I did – some fuckin' donkey track, or whatever, but I made it, 'till the bottom, when I had ta' jump offa' the cliff ta' make it over the fence. 'at's when I broke my arm," he held up the now splinted arm, "an' it turns out I landed in RED's base. But there ain't no one here! 's a ghost town. Creepy shit, man. Cr-eepy. So I plugged in tha' stick Engineer gave me, an' five minutes later, ya' all started showin' up! Man, it's good ta' see you guys."

"Likewise, mate, likewise," Sniper assured him, stepping over to put a gentle hand on his unbroken arm. "Couldn'a been here without you," he added.

"Naw man, yer' the reason I got out in the first place." Scout grinned, looking his team over. They were looking more and more like a family to him, instead of just a group of strangers he was stuck with.

So they had a hole or two, and they were a bit dysfunctional, but this malfunction in the system had changed them. Somewhere along the way, they'd started  _caring._ Funny, considering they believed it made them weaker. In the end, all it had taken was the permanence of death. And they'd avoided it. Mostly.

Pyro was still gone, and Spy hadn't shown up, which made Scout think that he hadn't been killed yet. Not that they would talk about it, really. Spy hadn't done much for them over the past six years that Scout had been around – the Frenchman was reclusive and elusive. But even with those gaping holes, they'd sewn themselves together, tied to each other in a way that couldn't really ever be undone.

And, Scout supposed, caring  _didn't_ make you weaker. It made you stronger, more willing to die for your friends.

In the end, it didn't really matter what his name was, or why he'd forgotten it, or why he'd never dreamed of home before or where the headaches had come from. What  _did_ matter was that his Ma was better off now, getting richer every day, and that he had a team who would look out for him just as much as he looked after them. It wasn't every man for himself.

 _Not anymore. Not ever again,_ Scout thought, as the exhaustion and dehydration finally caught up to him. The world faded and the sounds around him, so loud before, grew muffled. The last thing he felt was a hard surface as his back collided with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be greatly appreciated! I know I uploaded it all in one go, but it was a year in the making, and I'd love to hear what you all thought of it!

**Author's Note:**

> I'd edit this whole story, but then I'd probably end up rewriting it, so I'm just going to post it as is and hope you all enjoy. Drop a comment on your way out? ouo


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